Hannibal Family Values
by Screaming Ferret
Summary: Revised, updated and FIXED. A twisted look at what those kids might be like... COMPLETE
1. Meeting the Family

**Author's Note:** I've decided to get the road-crew in to fix the multitude of plot-holes in preparation for dusting off and updating _The Phantom Lecterphile_ - which will get underway as soon as I have finished _Daylight Dies_. Meanwhile, enjoy the revised, updated and fixed version of this shambling monstrosity. Another point - I feel obliged to kind of state the obvious here - I am **well aware** that this fic is more than a little preposterous, mildly out of character and full of obvious jokes. It is a comedy. So there :p

**Disclaimer:** Dr Lecter and his lady belong to the incomparable Thomas Harris. No copyright infringement is intended. Emma and the kids are mine.

**Chapter 1: The Family**

Buenos Aires. Picture, if you will, a handsome Beaux Arts mansion set in exquisitely maintained gardens. Add to this picture a taxi waiting impatiently outside the gates and a young woman standing on the doorstep, gesticulating wildly.

Emma Robinson was having trouble. The axe-faced harridan who had answered the door had spent a full five minutes gabbling in Spanish, and Emma had not understood a word of it. Worse, the old lady didn't seem to understand English. Sighing, Emma tried again.

"I'm here to see Mrs Montero. M-R-S M-O-N-T-E-R-O. I'm the au pair for the children. The C-H-I-L-D-R-E-N. Oh God, you know?" Emma waved her hand at roughly child-height. "Kiddies. Kids. Bambin - no, that's Italian..."

The old woman cocked her head at Emma, her black eyes twinkling. Then she launched herself at the girl, grabbed her by the arm and hauled her inside to a screech of "Ahh! CHEELDREN!"

"Yeah" Emma said, smiling in relief. "Cheeldren." The old battle-axe gabbled some more, pushing Emma into what looked very much like a library. She then proceeded to dash out, muttering to herself. As the sounds of her footsteps faded into the distance, Emma allowed herself looked around. The library was large and spotlessly clean. It was not, as she first supposed, full of old, musty books that no-one ever read. A few crime novels were scattered on a table, along with a battered book called 'Mog'. It had a smiling cat on the front. The young woman was just leafing through one of the crime novels, when footsteps announced the return of the old servant. She was accompanied by another woman who had the unmistakable look of 'the lady of the house.'

"Hi," the lady said, in a faint American accent. "I'm Hannah Montero." She held out her hand. Awkwardly, Emma shook it. "Emma Robinson, Mrs Montero."

"Pleased to meet you, Emma. Is that your taxi outside?"

"Yes, he's got my suitcase - " Mrs Montero turned to the servant, who was gone before Emma could even finish her sentence.

"Bernardo will take it up to your room for you. Now, would you like to meet the children?"

Emma smiled in relief. "That's what I'm here for, Mrs Montero."

Mrs Montero led her further down the oak-panelled passage, to another door. "The lounge" she announced rather grandly, pushing the door open. Three children were clustered around a metal wastepaper basket. As the door opened, they scrambled to form a line, from oldest to youngest, in front of the bin. Mrs Montero sniffed the air. The children stared at a point about a quarter of the way up the opposite wall.

"All right. Whose idea was it?" The children shuffled their feet. Sighing, their mother stepped around them and gingerly picked up the waste bin. It was hot.

"Kids, that's the third pair this month. What _have_ you been watching on television?" she asked rhetorically, poking the sad, smouldering remains of a pair of slippers. "Who did it?" Silence. "I want an answer" More silence. Mrs Montero played her last card. "If you don't tell me, you'll have to tell _daddy_ when he comes home..." The three looked at each other. Sheepishly, the eldest raised her hand. "Oh Jade. No pocket money for you, young lady. I'll have to use that to buy your father some new slippers. Okay, enough of that. Kids, this is Emma. She's come all the way from England to look after you."

The three children stared at Emma. She smiled a little self-consciously. The boy in the middle had a _particularly_ penetrating gaze. Their mother continued the introductions. "This young lady is Alethia Jade. She's an artist, and apparently a budding pyromaniac. She insists on going by her middle name, don't ask me why…"

Jade was skinny, with reddish hair and a sparkly top that told Emma that she loved her attitude problem. "I'm nine next week" she announced proudly. "You have to do EVERYTHING I say, for a WHOLE day!"

Next in line at seven years old, was Gabriel Anthony, the boy with the piercing eyes. Emma blinked. Were his eyes maroon? Gabriel was a small, solemn looking boy, who clutched an overstuffed Yoda toy close to his chest and refused to speak.

The third member of the group was a chubby four-year old named Tycho, or Tyke for short. "Because he is" Jade giggled. Tycho grinned as Emma crouched to say hello, he shrieked with laughter when she picked him up, and he tried to bite her knee when she set him back down on the floor.

Once the introductions had been made, Mrs Montero pulled Emma to one side. "I've got to go out and get some new slippers for my husband. Jade will show you around if you like, and the servants are here. D'you think you can manage?"

"Of course I can, Mrs Montero" Emma said in a reassuring tone whilst trying to fend off Tycho. Tycho's mother shot her a grateful look. "Thanks. I'll give you my mobile number, if you get into any trouble, just ring."

As soon her mother was out the door, Jade grabbed Emma by the hand. "Gonna show you around," she said importantly.

Emma was then treated to a garbled and rather whirlwind tour of the kitchen, Dr Montero's study, the garden, the garage and then the upstairs rooms. The little tour guide ended the expedition in the children's playroom. Emma's eyes were drawn to a number of Barbie dolls hanging from the ceiling. "I don't like Barbie anymore," Jade said, happening to noticing what her new friend was staring at.

"Oh. Right - lovely." Emma glanced around. Aside from the Barbie dolls, everything looked normal. Scalectrix in the corner, cuddly toys, dolls house, play kitchen etc. Jade dragged her over to the latter. "Look! Daddy got it for us. Cool, isn't? I'm gonna learn to cook JUST LIKE Daddy!" she exclaimed, throwing another doll into a red plastic frying pan.

Further explorations of Daddy's cooking methods were suddenly interrupted by an unearthly animal howl from downstairs, followed by feet thudding up the stairs. Gabriel appeared in the doorway, gasping for breath. "Jade!" he gasped. "Tyke's gone and bit the cat again!"

The cat, a fluffy white Persian, had taken refuge on the chandelier in the dining room. The poor animal resembled a loofah, its fur sticking out at all angles. It was resisting Tycho's best efforts to dislodge it with a broomhandle. The toddler, giggling wickedly, seemed to have formed a vague alliance with the numerous Montero dogs. They paced underneath the cat's perch, waiting for it to move.

Emma strode into the thick of the conflict and scooped Tycho up, disarming him. Shooing the dogs ahead of her into the lounge, she deposited Tycho on the sofa. Jade and Gabriel trailed in behind her, closing the door.

"That poor cat. Tycho, that was terribly cruel. I don't want to see you tormenting him again, do you hear?"

Tycho wriggled. "Cat!" he shrieked. "CAT!"

"We think he's declared war on poor Mog III," Jade informed Emma.

"Mog Three?"

"Actually, it's Mog The Third. It was Dad's idea. The other two died. In suspicious circumstances," she added, glaring at Tycho. "He's only a kitty!"

Emma flung herself onto the sofa next to Psycho Tycho. The dogs came and dribbled on her knee. Petting one, she turned to Jade.

"Nice dogs. What are their names?"

Jade and Gabriel giggled. "They're Mom's. That one is called Ox, 'cos he's so big. The black and white one's called Maul."

"I called him that," Gabriel said proudly.

"And the one that's drooling all over you is called Hannibal," Jade finished. "He likes to have his tummy scratched."

Obligingly, Hannibal flopped onto the floor and rolled over, legs in the air.

"Oh yeah," Jade giggled again. "And we got a tortoise called Britney."

"Why Britney?" Emma wondered, for the sake of civilised conversation.

"Mom says she looks like Britney Spears. And Dad hates her. I think she's cool." Jade began to gyrate in an approximation of the dance to -

"OOOPS! I did it again! I played with your HEART, got lost in the GAAAAMEEE!" She shrieked in a credible impression of the pop star, and flung herself at Emma. "Come on, we can listen to Britney Spears! I'm not allowed to while Dad's here, but he's not, so we can!"

It is going to be a looooong six months, Emma mused as she was dragged upstairs to Jade's bedroom and a towering stack of Britney Spears, Steps and Backstreet Boys CDs. _God and all the Saints have mercy on my soul_

Hours later, Emma collapsed gratefully into her bed. To say she was exhausted was a gross understatement. She had NEVER seen children like these before. They were smart, inventive (especially when it came to new games to play) and she was certain young Tycho was a menace to society. But she couldn't help liking them. And their parents too - Mrs Montero was lovely, although her husband, Dr Montero, was a little creepy. At least the kids came by their maroon eyes honestly, she thought sleepily.

In the mansion's master suite, Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling shed the personas of Dr and Mrs Montero for the night. Clarice snuggled up to Lecter, who wound a powerful arm around her waist. "What do you think of the new au pair?" she asked him.

"She seems nice, and the children like her. She'll do fine. She's lasted longer than all the others."

Clarice laughed. "Remember that one with the wig? Gabe tried to barbecue it. She only lasted an afternoon."

"How can I forget?" The doctor chuckled. "We'll see how well she holds up at the Zoo tomorrow."


	2. The Zoo

Disclaimer: Hannibal and Clarice belong to Thomas Harris. Emma and the little Munchkins are mine.

**Chapter 2: Never Work With Children and Animals**

It was a glorious morning in the Montero household. Having just arisen, Emma sleepily poked her head around her door, glancing warily up and down the hallway. A figure strode into view. It was Dr Montero in a blue velvet dressing gown, perfectly groomed despite the fact that he had just risen.

"Good morning Emma," he said courteously as he passed.

"Um, good morning, Doctor." She couldn't help sneaking a glance at his butt as he walked past. Closing her door, Emma flumped back down on the bed. Cute, she thought, amused.

By the time she was dressed, there were definite sounds of movement in the house, and by the shrieks, she guessed that, oh Dear Lord, the kids were up already. Emma glanced at the bedside clock. It was seven AM.

Leaving her room, she nearly collided with Gabriel. Still in his pyjamas, he was ferociously whacking his sister with a red plastic lightsaber. Jade was whacking back, giving as good as she got. Gabe spotted Emma and waved. Jade took advantage of her brother's momentary lapse in concentration, and in one swift move she pinned him against the wall and disarmed him.

"Isn't it a bit early to be playing Jedi Knights?" Emma asked mildly, stifling a yawn.

"Oh, we're not JedI," Jade told her.

"Nah. We're Sith Lords. The baddies" Gabriel added. He retrieved his lightsaber and struck a pose. "I'm Darth Maul! I'm a Jedi killer!"

"That's nice. What time's breakfast around here?"

"About eightish. Mom and Dad have breakfast later," Jade said, giving her brother the Jedi Killer a withering glance.

Darth Maul glared back, then spun round and shot off down the passage, yelling a suitably Sith-like war-cry and brandishing his lightsaber.

Breakfast in the Montero household was an interesting experience. At eight o clock sharp, in the Morning Room, the children assembled, washed, dressed and very hungry. Unusually, their parents opted to join them. They sat around a large oak table, waiting for the servants to bring breakfast in. Emma glanced around. She spotted the long-suffering Mog The Third lurking at the top of a dresser. A couple of the dogs - Hannibal and a new one - sidled in and heaped themselves in a corner, watchful brown eyes fixed on the table.

Emma's nostrils were suddenly assaulted by the mouth-watering smell of bacon and eggs as a full English breakfast was laid before them. "In honour of our guest," Dr Montero said, smiling at her. Emma refrained from mentioning that she only ever got a proper English breakfast in foreign hotels, and liberally helped herself to bacon. Tycho, wriggling in his chair, got cereal instead.

The children were amazingly polite at the table. Napkins tucked into collars, pleases and thank-you's, pleasant conversation. The subjects of Sith Lords, Britney Spears, whether or not it was possible to microwave a body, or Tycho's distressing cat-eating habit were not even touched upon. For Emma, veteran of gruesome dinner-table conversation, it was very nearly bliss.

The children were excited. Today, Daddy had promised them a trip to the Zoo. They talked endlessly about the animals they wanted to see. Gabriel wanted to see the monkeys until his sister informed him that they fed the alligators live goats.

"Cool! Daddy, will we see that?"

"I very much doubt it" his father told him.

"Aww. Can we go paintballing instead?" he asked hopefully.

"Gabe, baby, you're too young for paintballing" Mrs Montero said with a laugh.

"Too young, and probably too lethal," Dr Montero said in an undertone to his wife.

"Undoubtedly," she murmured, smiling.

Jade steered the conversation onto the topic of big cats. It seemed to Emma that she was angling to get one for her birthday. "They've got HUGE teeth" she enthused of tigers. "They can eat people in ONE GULP! What do you think of that, Daddy?"

"Very impressive" he admitted. "I'll remember that when I see one."

"It would probably run away," his wife said.

"Run away from lil' old me?" The doctor smirked. His children laughed. Emma got the distinct feeling that this was a joke they weren't sharing.

"It would if it had any sense," Mrs Montero added.

"Can I have one, Daddy? PLEEEEASE?" Jade bounced up and down in her chair hopefully.

"No, you cannot have a tiger - no not even if it IS a man-eater. What would poor Mog think? Now, go and get ready, all of you."

Jade looked down at the table for a moment. Then she rose, smiling sweetly at her father. "Come on, boys," she said to her brothers. Gabriel hopped up eagerly, exited by the prospect of seeing alligators and poisonous spiders. Tycho held his arms up, and Emma lifted him out of his chair. She set him on the floor and he ran off after the other two. A door slammed upstairs, then loud pop music started. Emma could just make out the words. She glanced at Dr Montero. He covered his face with his hands and groaned. His wife seemed to be having trouble keeping her composure.

"Jade: one, Daddy: nil," she murmured, trying not to laugh. Her husband glared at her. Emma decided it was time to make a tactical withdrawal and see if she could somehow sabotage the playroom stereo. She understood the Doctor's dislike of pop music, but she somehow just could not fathom why he seemed to take Britney Spears as a personal affront.

As the au pair left, Clarice rose and closed the door behind her. "She won that round pretty fairly, you have to admit." Starling grinned. Lecter merely grunted.

"I should never have bought them that stereo." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Maybe I could remove the plug."

Clarice shook her head. "You know perfectly well they'll just try to replace it - and probably electrocute themselves in the process. You should never have bought the CDs."

He grunted again.

Starling decided to needle a bit more. "You're too soft with her, Hannibal. She's walking all over you." She sighed. "I never thought I'd see it - Hannibal 'the Cannibal' going soft in his old age."

Dr Lecter jumped to his feet, eyes afire. "I am not the pushover you seem to think I am," he growled. "And I'm not in my dotage either. I'm going to confiscate those infernal CDs of hers. And if she says just one word..." He left it hanging.

"Won't work," his wife drawled, amused.

"Why not?"

"Because, dearest, as far as that young lady is concerned, you are just a big, cuddly teddy-bear of a Daddy who happens to have some intriguing dietary habits. She'll never believe you. And face it, she's got you riiiiight where she wants you."

Lecter scowled. She was right, and he knew it. There was no way he could argue with his daughter and win. He turned to the door. He was in a perfect frame of mind for the nightmare of a Family Outing.

"Hannibal, where are you going?" Clarice asked carefully. He looked mildly explosive, not unlike a bees nest before some bright spark hits it with a stick.

"I'm going to take the autopsy saw out of the picnic hamper," he snapped. "We have company." With that, he strode off down the passage.

Once the children had been rounded up and frisked for contraband items - Gabriel was relieved of his lightsaber and Jade of the largest collar and lead she could find, cunningly hidden in her doll, the entire party exited the house. Outside, a blue and silver Mercedes waited, having been brought out of the garage by Bernado. Dr Montero and his wife sat in the front, Emma squeezed in the back with the children. Tycho grinned and hit her on the head with a cuddly chicken.

Mercifully for all concerned, the journey was short. Upon arrival, the children poured out of the car and through the gate as Mrs Montero purchased tickets.

Emma dived for Tycho as he ran off towards the Monkey House. Gabriel was heading for the Reptile House and Jade was hopping up and down excitedly, tugging at Emma's sleeve.

"Look!" she cried. "Hippos!"

In a nearby pen, three hippopotami lounged in a deep pool. As they watched, one yawned, exposing an impressive set of teeth.

"Can we go see?" Jade wanted to know.

"In a moment. Where's Gabe?" Emma glanced around frantically. Already missing one of her charges, she felt that this did not bode well for the rest of the trip.

"Dunno. Can we see the hippos?"

Emma continued to look around. Fortunately, Gabriel had been accosted by a park guard. Mrs Montero was standing motionless, observing the penguins. Dr Montero was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey Jade, where's your father?"

Jade looked up and down the path. Then she pulled Emma down to her level. "Sometimes he likes to stay in the car and lick the steering wheel after Mummy's been driving" she confided in a giggly whisper.

"Riiiiight. Okay. Ummm..." It was an interesting mental picture, and one she could have done without.

Dr Montero sauntered through the gate towards them. He was obviously feeling more cheerful after saying 'hi' to the steering wheel, as he winked at Emma. She kept her eyes firmly fastened on the distant treetops of the giraffe enclosure.

Emma released Tycho, who grinned at her and dashed off to his father. As the Monteros joined them, the three children all spoke up at once.

"Can we see the hippos?" Jade begged.

"The snakes!" Gabriel made lightsaber whooshy noises. "Pleeeease?"

"Munn-keys" Tycho said firmly.

"Dr Montero picked up his youngest son. "Hippos, monkeys, snakes" he said in a tone that brooked no argument. Jade grinned.

"The hippos were, Emma thought, decidedly boring. Far more stimulating was the challenge of keeping all three overactive Montero children together in the same place at the same time. The three adults came to an unspoken agreement. Dr Montero was to keep a close eye on Tycho, his wife kept hold of Jade, and Emma was left with little Gabriel and his well-worn cuddly Yoda.

Tycho happily jabbered away on his father's shoulders as the family headed for the monkey house. The monkeys, a sight more lively than the sluggish hippos, didn't quite know what to make of Tycho. For one thing, the faces he pulled were quite alarming, even to the monkeys. As he amused himself by shrieking baboon-style and attempting to stare out the ferociously fanged alpha male, other parents dragged their children out the exit, away from the strange child and his unnatural maroon gaze.

The Montero children were thoroughly enjoying themselves. Winding up the monkeys was a great success. As the family turned to leave, the monkeys regained their courage and started throwing stones, food and more unpleasant items through the bars. Tycho and Gabriel reacted fairly predictably. Gabriel stooped for a stone and flung it at the leader, hitting the ape in its scarlet hindquarters. The infuriated baboon shot towards the bars, howling. Undaunted, Gabriel and his little brother slammed themselves against the bars with spine-chilling snarls. The baboon pulled up short and retreated to the back of its cage, shaking. Dr Montero smiled at his sons, and then treated the cowering ape to an unpleasant hiss. It whimpered.

Emma consoled herself with the cheerful thought that next to monkeys, the Reptile House was going to be a pushover because there was no way they could reduce snakes to catatonia. She gave a little shudder and pushed Gabriel out ahead of her.

"I like snakes," he announced.

"Why's that Gabe? I never liked them much myself."

"They're funny." Gabriel laughed. "I barbecued one once."

"Oh. That's... nice." Her mind shrieked warnings about miniature psychopaths, but she chose not to listen. The pay cheque was rather substantial, after all...

"Yeah. It was cool. The skin went all crackly and..."

"That's lovely. I really don't want to know, alright?"

Gabriel looked disappointed. "Awww. It _was_ funny."

"I'm sure. Leave the zoo ones alone, okay?"

He gave her a withering look. "I know that, Emma."

The keeper at the Reptile House gave them a few do's and don'ts before they went in.

"Do not go near the glass. Do not touch the glass. Do not attempt to stick your fingers in the air holes. The big ones can make a snack of a small boy in minutes." He mock-glared at Tycho, who stared steadily back. After a few seconds, the man could take no more of that intense gaze. He blinked, dazed, and waved them inside.

It was dim in the Reptile House, with a greenish light that came from the massive tanks surrounding them. Naturally, the children had found the biggest monster in the place, and were trying to tease it. It was long, thick and beautifully patterned in brown, black and grey. It was a Brazilian Boa Constrictor, capable of consuming a fully-grown man, and it was currently eye-to-eye with Jade. Going cross-eyed, she was trying to intimidate the snake by snarling at it. But the snake was no monkey. It lunged against the side of the tank, smashing its blunt nose into the glass. Jade laughed and stuck her finger in one of the air holes. It lunged forward again and the girl yanked her finger out of harms way. There was a 'crack!' and a split appeared in the glass.

"Oh FUDGE! Mother! It's trying to get out!"

Mrs Montero turned away from the fascinating bird-eating spiders and examined the crack. The snake drew back for another go. Rolling her eyes in exasperation, she shepherded her daughter away. "Better get out of here," she said in an undertone to the doctor. "We don't want to be detained."

Dr Montero merely nodded. They dragged the boys away from the Bat Cave and made it to the exit seconds before the first scream. People poured out of the Reptile House, screaming. Keepers dashed to and fro with nets and nooses, trying to recapture the snake. The Monteros sat on a grassy bank, the children reduced to giggles. "Ooops," Jade murmured, watching the chaos.

"Ooops indeed, young lady" her mother agreed, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.

Once the fun was over, they continued in a leisurely stroll around the park. Jade was utterly fascinated by the big cats, and it took the entire family to drag her away from the tiger cubs.

"They are so SWEET!" she said rapturously as they headed for the petting zoo, pausing to buy ice-creams from a man dressed in the loudest, vilest Hawaiian shirt they had ever seen.

"Things like that shouldn't be allowed," Dr Montero said, looking with distaste at the monstrous shirt. The shirt, Emma mused, was more than loud. Rather, it was screaming so hard she was surprised she wasn't deaf.

Clarice Starling glanced around. Emma was busy mopping up Tycho's ice-creamed shirt.

"I know you're tempted, dearest," she whispered to Dr Lecter. "I know its offended your sense of taste, I fail to see how it can't. But you are not to do anything in the middle of a crowded zoo. What if Emma was to see?"

Dr Lecter grinned mischievously. "It'd be a challenge," he noted.

"Yeah. And the kids will want to join in. You DO remember what happened last time?"

Dr Lecter chuckled. 'Last time' had featured Gabriel's kindergarten teacher, a roll of duct tape, a set of carbon steel kitchen knives and a small camping stove, not to mention three children hidden in the shrubbery.

"Actually, dealing with the questions afterwards was the hardest part," Clarice reflected. " 'Where babies come from' should be a walk in the park compared to 'Why Daddy grilled Mrs Maplestowe,' or 'When can I do the things Daddy does?'"

Jade tugged at her father's sleeve. "Can we go and stroke the goats now?" she asked.

"Of course Sweetie." Dr Lecter resumed the guise of Dr Montero with a doting smile upon his daughter.

Retrieving Tycho and Gabriel, they approached the pen of goats. Big, dusty and mean-eyed, these beasts were intended to give city children a chance to get closer to nature. The goats saw the arrangement as a chance to get closer to lunch; ice-creams, fingers and clothing being their food of choice.

Tycho climbed into the pen and looked around. The head of the largest goat came up. Its nostrils flared. It was an old goat, cunning and tough. Its prey lounged casually against the fence, foolishly licking an ice-cream.

Predator and prey faced each other across the straw pen.

Tycho waved at the big black goat that was staring at him, then turned away to speak to Emma. The old goat saw its chance and charged. They prey, all unawares, would soon lose its ice-cream, and possibly half its shirt.

Emma clapped her hand over her mouth as the goat charged. "Tycho!" she cried.

Tycho turned, saw the goat bare its yellow teeth, and bit it smartly on the nose. The startled animal scrambled away, snorting and shaking its head. Tycho walked forward into the pen, goats milling all around. They backed away from him, dark eyes fixed greedily on his ice-cream, but they did not dare come any closer.

The tense moment was broken when Dr Montero stepped into the pen and picked up his son. Emma watched in amazement as the tough old goats clambered over themselves to get away from the man.

"Right. Time to go home, I think," he said, settling Tycho on his shoulders and declining to comment upon his bizarre control over animals. Emma desperately wished she had the courage to ask, but something about the doctor was just a little... creepy. She shivered.

The car journey home seemed to take even longer, possibly because Jade never stopped talking.

"Dad, its my birthday next week."

"Yes honey, I know."

"Can I have a tiger?"

"No."

"Can I have a leopard then? They're smaller."

"No."

"A giraffe? Pleeeease?"

"No. No giraffes."

"A pony?"

"No. Anyway, we've got three horses."

"But they're Mum's and they live in Italy."

"I said NO, Jade."

"Ohhh. Can I have a rabbit then?"

"NO. You dissected the last one."

"But Daaaaaad..."

"But nothing. You have five dogs, three horses, one long-suffering cat, a parrot and a pond full of koi carp."

"And Britney." Jade giggled.

"Oh yes, the lawn ornament." Dr Montero scowled at a cyclist who dared come close to his car.

"And you can't cuddle fish," Jade noted.

"I know, Sweetie. I've seen you trying."

Home had never seemed so welcome to Emma. They had to disable a sizable number of security alarms just to get in the front door, but once they were in, Emma could think of nothing but bath, food and sleep. From upstairs came the echo of Britney Spears's latest single. The au pair sighed and headed upstairs to talk Jade into listening to something else.


	3. Parents Evening and Other Disasters

-1Disclaimer: All is Harris's, except the OC's.

**Chapter 3: Of Parent's Evening and Other Disasters**

_Dear Dr and Mrs Montero. _

As you are aware, this year's Parent's Evening takes place on the evening of May 8th. Thank you for returning your invite slip so promptly. Enclosed are the appointment times for your daughter's teachers.  
The Headmistress of the School would like to take the opportunity to extend an invitation to meet with her before your appointments with the other teachers. We hope that both you and your daughter will be able to attend.

Yours Sincerely,

Mrs E. Fernandez  
School Secretary. 

Clarice Starling pulled the letter out of her purse and consulted it for the seventh time. She glanced at her watch.

"It's 5 pm now, we'd better go straight in."

Her husband, Dr Hannibal Lecter, settled his white fedora on his head and glanced up at the school buildings with some distaste.

"Must we? Formal education is such a waste of time. To get a _true_ perspective on the world, it is necessary to unlearn everything your schoolteachers spent years trying to hammer into your head." He sniffed. "Much of what you learn has no relevance to real life. I'll tell you what -" he paused and smiled, ever the gracious gentleman. "I'll keep the car ticking over while you take Jade in."

Jade clapped her hands. "Mummy, Daddy's perfectly right, you know. School is SO a waste of time. They've never even _heard_ of Marcus Aurelius, can you imagine? Why don't I quit here, and then I can have a PROPER education at home?"

She looked hopefully at her mother. Clarice, however, was looking at Dr Lecter with a very steely gaze indeed.

"Hannibal Lecter. Head-teacher's office. NOW."

His eyebrows shot up and he grinned. Despite his best efforts, he could never keep a straight face when she took that tone with him, and he adored her for it.

"Yes Miss," he agreed, maroon eyes twinkling.

Starling raised her eyes to heaven. "I wonder what they give naughty boys around here," she mused. "The cane?"

"Oh Clariiice - any time," he purred, and she couldn't help but smile. Dr Lecter set his hat at a jaunty angle, winked and strolled towards the entrance, whistling the Goldberg Variations as he went.

Jade stared after her father's retreating figure. "Mom?"

"Yes honey?"

"Why would Daddy WANT to be caned?"

Now there, Clarice reflected, was a stumper along the lines of 'Mother, why does Daddy eat people?'

"Tell you when you're older," she told her daughter.

"I'm older next week. Tell me then."

"A bit older than nine, Jade."

They caught up with Dr Lecter in the waiting room outside the Head's office. He was standing in front of a spectacularly bad copy of Giotto's famous 'Crucifixion' fresco. Nose to nose with the crucified Christ, Dr Lecter seemed unaware of the secretary's interested gaze. When Starling caught her looking at the Doctor's behind, she reddened.

"Madame Sallier is ready to see you now," she mumbled, and went back to her magazine.

Madame Sallier was French. Clad in severe black and with her hair scraped back in a bun, she looked every inch the Victorian schoolmistress. She greeted them with a thin-lipped smile and gestured them into chairs. Taking her seat behind a massively ornate desk, she nodded once at Jade, then proceeded to ignore her entirely.

"Good evening, Dr Montero, Mrs Montero. I'm pleased that you came."

Starling nodded politely. "I understand that you wish to discuss Jade's progress at school."

The matronly Madame pursed her lips. "Yes, and no," she answered. "It's Jade's somewhat - erratic - behaviour that I wish to discuss. You are aware, of course, that your daughter is extremely bright. Possibly the most intelligent child I have encountered for a long time."

Jade gave her teacher a rather cheeky grin as her parents beamed, as proud parents are wont to do.

"However," Madame Sallier continued, peering at them over the tops of her glasses, "she seems to feel that this gives her the right to do as she pleases. She uses her natural intelligence to intimidate my staff. Consequently, they let her get away with murder."

Clarice smiled sweetly. "Murder? Surely not. And at such a young age. I hope you don't think we encourage her."

Beside her, Dr Lecter gave a tiny cough that might _possibly_ have been a snort.

Madame Sallier favoured Starling with a frosty glare. "This is no laughing matter, Mrs Montero. Only yesterday she threatened to hurt a classmate, and I quote, 'vivisect you with a blunt linoleum knife, Esperanza. See if I don't.' I can't have my children making such threats."

Dr Lecter looked sternly at his daughter. She seemed to have found something of immense interest to study on the opposite wall.

"Is this true?" he asked.

Jade ummed and ahhed. "Er. Sort of..."

Her father sighed. "Never make idle threats. If you say you'll do something, do it. Don't just talk about it."

"Sorry Dad," Jade whispered.

Madame Sallier stared at the doctor with something between horror and fascination. She cleared her throat.

"Her behaviour is questionable, as is her fascination with killing things. For instance, last week she brought in a Colt 45. for Show And Tell. Of course it was unloaded, but that is beside the point. She gave the class a practical demonstration in how to strip down and reassemble the horrible thing."

"In five seconds," Jade said with justifiable pride.

Clarice raised her eyebrows. "Oh my," she said mildly. "Did she really?" She'd known about the gun, of course. She'd suggested it.

"Yes. She did" Madame said coldly. "Do you normally keep dangerous weapons where your children can find them, Mrs Montero? I understand that you were both involved in law enforcement at one time."

Dr Lecter exchanged glances with his wife. It was true that they'd both been involved with law enforcement. That is, Clarice was the enforcer, he the enforcee.

Starling leaned forwards. "Quite true, Madame. I keep the gun at home, out of habit. After all, you never know who might be lurking around the next corner. Please continue."

Madame Sallier settled back in her chair, glad of the desk between her and Mrs Montero. There was something unnerving about the woman. She made a show of perusing her list of 'Things to Discuss'.

"Ah yes. The small matter of locking Mrs Torqea in her Stationary Cupboard. The poor woman had a nervous breakdown in there and started stabbing herself with her own pencils. The other children say Jade sat outside the door, telling Mrs Torqea to swallow her tongue."

"Did she?" Dr Lecter asked, interested.

"Of course not," Madame snapped. "It is simply impossible to persuade someone to swallow their own tongue. But she never wants to see another child again."

"In my experience," Dr Lecter said mildly, "anyone is open to persuasion." He smiled in a rather crocodilian fashion.

Starling coughed. "Has she done _anything_ worthy of your good graces this year?"

Madame Sallier pursed her lips, making her look even more like a sour old prune.

"I have to admit that her work is always of the highest quality, although the other children have yet to learn to appreciate her 'inspired' readings of Dante's Inferno. Particularly inspired when she reaches the lower levels of Hell, that is. I understand that her enthusiasm wanes somewhat above Purgatory."

The doctor ruffled his daughter's hair approvingly, provoking a glare in response.

"That's my girl." He smiled proudly. "I've never encouraged a belief in God as a saviour, we don't find the idea of Heaven particularly attractive."

Jade nodded. "Besides, all the interesting people go to Hell."

Madame harrumphed. "I run a God-fearing school, Dr Montero. Now, what else was there? Yes, your daughter's work is very good, but some of its content is a little questionable. For instance..." She picked up a sheaf of papers by its very corner, as though it had something contagious, and passed it to Clarice.

"When asked to write about her hero in class, she wrote a four-page essay on Hannibal Lecter." The headmistress shivered.

Starling held up the paper and cleared her throat. "I think Dr Lecter is someone to look up to because he does what he pleases without worrying about what other people think," she read. "He doesn't care if people think he's insane, he likes the way he is and he's freer for it. If people were more like him, they'd be happier. PS: He's probably really nice when you get to know him."

Starling looked at her daughter, who had gone beet-red and was attempting to sink through her chair and into the floor.

"Mom, I didn't mean..."

"It's very perceptive, dear," Dr Lecter said with a look of the 'wait 'til I get you home' variety.

Madame Sallier glared at them. "Honestly, what sort of child writes an essay extolling the virtues of a psychopath?"

Clarice bristled. "An intelligent and insightful essay that many a respected psychologist would not be able to manage, you mean?"

Madame recognised the 'Defensive Mother' stance, familiar to teachers world-wide, and hastily sought for something nice to say.

"Um, but she's good with the little ones. She has talked little Alonzo Marquez down off the roof several times. Admittedly, she threatened to disembowel him last time, and the boy is terrified of dying."

"Why was he on the roof in the first place then?" Dr Lecter asked curiously.

"I honestly have no idea. But his behaviour is not the issue. Jade's is. As bright a girl as she is, I feel that she is something of a liability within this school. Is she hyperactive at home? Do you spend a lot of time with her? Have you considered the benefits of home-schooling?"

The temperature in the office dropped noticeably. Dr Lecter, casually seated in his chair, practically radiated cold fury. Clarice wondered if Madame Sallier had spotted the signs of imminent meltdown yet. Was the woman blind?

Smiling his crocodile smile, Dr Lecter leaned forward and met the teacher's eyes. "So, what you're saying is this. My daughter is dangerous, hyperactive, attention-seeking and you'd rather not teach her anymore."

Nailed to her chair by the doctor's intense maroon stare, Madame struggled for something to say. There was an easy way out, away from the man's uncomfortable gaze, but she really didn't want to take it. Pride warred with cowardice, and cowardice won out.

"Of course not," she said slowly, as if she was in a deep trance. "I'd be _delighted_ if Jade were to continue her education here. She's an asset to the school, and I look forward to seeing her next year." Madame closed her eyes, silently praying for forgiveness for such an outrageous lie.

Dr Lecter has an excellent sense of smell. He can smell a policeman a block away. And he can smell a lie, especially when the lie is dancing under his nose, waving a flag. A lie is to Dr Lecter what a red flag is to a bull. True to form, he lowered his horns and charged.

Madame was surprised and gratified when the doctor smiled nicely at her.

"Of course," he said, rising to shake her hand. "Since you've been so helpful, I'd like, if I may, to invite you for dinner. Shall we say next Friday?"

Flustered, Madame Sallier smiled at him. The Monteros moved in the highest social circles, and they were famed for the excellency of their table.

"Oh, Dr Montero... I'm flattered. I'd love to. Next Friday, then?"

Dr Lecter smiled. Mentally, Clarice was humming the Jaws theme tune and picking out her evening gown.

"Yes. Friday. Seven PM. Good day, Madame." He bent over her hand in a gentlemanly fashion.

As they exited the office, Clarice hoped that the other teachers would be politer. Otherwise, she thought wryly, he'd be inviting the entire faculty over for dinner, and the freezer was already full.

It was half-past seven when they returned home. All the lights were on, and as Dr Lecter disabled the alarms, Clarice went looking for her other offspring and their au-pair..

She found them in the living room. Emma, covered in a thin layer of soot, stood in the middle of the floor. Mog the Third, singed and sooty, had taken refuge on her head, and had dug all his claws in to prevent removal. Tycho was trying to climb up the au-pair's leg to get to the cat, while she was engaged in fending him off. Gabriel sat in front of the PlayStation, absorbed in his Star Wars Podracer game, and totally ignoring the cat's howls, Tycho's gleeful cries and Emma's pleas for help. He too had his fair share of soot.

Hannibal and Clarice stood in the doorway, taking this extraordinary (even by their standards) scene. The cause of the soot was evident in the charred velvet curtains lying in a sad pile on the floor.

Emma saw them and went red. "Uh, Mrs Montero? I can explain. Really..."


	4. A Vision In Pink

**Disclaimer:** They all belong to Lucas.

Just testing ;)

**Chapter 4: A Vision In Pink**

Midnight. The great mansion was silent, save for the creak of settling floorboards and the occasional groan from the plumbing.

Emma Robinson slowly inched her door open, wincing as it creaked on its hinges. Looking up and down the passage, she ascertained that the coast was clear. The au pair slipped out of her room and gingerly tiptoed down the corridor. Clad in a white dressing gown, she cut a ghostly figure as she sneaked past the children's rooms.

Emma carefully avoided the very squeaky floorboard right outside Tycho's room. She was rather suspicious of that floorboard. She suspected that the good Dr Montero had deliberately installed it so he'd hear if his youngest was up and about at night. It positively _howled_ if one trod on it.

Having negotiated the creakiest part of the passage, Emma scuttled for the stairs. One step at a time, she crept down them. Pausing every time a stair creaked, it seemed to take forever to reach the first floor.

The first floor hallway was much quieter, and it was a whole floor away from the sleeping Monteros. Groping blindly down it, she arrived at an oak-panelled door about a quarter of the way down. She sighed in relief. Then she yelped in surprise as _something_ brushed her ankle. Her heart thumped loudly as she looked around for the culprit. A pair of gleaming yellow eyes regarded her from near floor-level and blinked lazily.

"Mog!" she hissed, nudging the cat away with her foot. "What are you doing here? Get outta it, go on. Scat."

But Mog refused to scat. Instead, he rubbed himself against her, purring loudly. Half-exasperated, half-amused, Emma reached down to scratch the Persian's ears. "You nearly gave me a heart attack. And _please_ don't purr so loudly." It was stupid, she knew, to entertain the thought that Dr Montero could hear Mog's soft rumble from upstairs. But you could never tell. The man was uncanny.

Emma slowly turned the doorknob and pushed the heavy door open. Mog, tail held high, sauntered into the darkness beyond. She followed the white cat into the room.

In darkness, things are never what they seem. Shadows form and grow in corners, previously benign objects become lurking beasts. So it was in here. What at first appeared to be the shadow of a small tyrannosaurus was revealed on closer inspection to be the Play Kitchen, with its decorative motif of daisies. A snake coiled in the corner was merely the battered Scalectrix. And the still shape by the window was -

"Emma?" A smooth, cultured voice slipped from the shadows.

"Ohmygod!" Emma leapt into the air with a small scream. Clamping her hand over her mouth, she glanced wildly around for the speaker.

Dr Montero stepped away from the window. Wearing his dark blue dressing gown, he was difficult to spot in the darkness. He clicked on a torch and shined it at the au pair. The beam caught the glint of metal in her hand. Emma said nothing as he raised an eyebrow at the screwdriver she held. She looked straight back, and dropped her gaze to the tool bag he carried. Then, surprisingly, he grinned.

"You hold the torch, and I'll do the deed."

She smirked at him. "Operation Britney Spears?"

"Precisely." And with that, the doctor laid down his tools. Handing Emma the torch, he opened his bag and began to remove the tools. He discarded a power drill, a crowbar and a small saw. A hammer held his attention for a moment. "Tempting, but no," he sighed regretfully and laid it aside.

A few moments later, armed with a screwdriver, Dr Montero attacked the large playroom stereo. With astonishing speed he had the plug off and replaced with a dud. Plugging the thing back in, he pressed the 'on´ button. Emma steeled herself for a blast of S Club 7's latest, but none came. Satisfied, Dr Montero winked at Emma. "Don't mention this to my wife. She will kill me. And if she doesn't, Jade most certainly will."

Emma nodded. "No sir. Not a word. You can count on it." She had no wish to encounter a furious Jade first thing in the morning.

"Thank you. Good night Emma." With that, the doctor picked up his tools and ambled out of the room, whistling softly.

She stared after him, and shook her head. "That," she said to the empty room, "was surreal. Well, fairly surreal anyway. Like normal, I suppose."

Morning came. Emma would have liked to savour the golden sunlight pouring through her windows, and the glorious morning birdsong. Unfortunately her hopes of a peaceful morning lie-in were dashed when her door burst open and something landed on her middle. Hard. Winded, Emma struggled into a sitting position, dislodging a grinning Gabriel.

"Wake up!"

"I AM awake, thanks to you."

He peered at her face. "Didja get up on the wrong side of the bed? Or didja get bitten by bedbugs?"

Emma snorted. "No. I just had a small boy land on my stomach." She yawned. "What's the occasion?"

Gabe grinned at her. "Its Jade's birthday. You have to get up and come downstairs. Now!" And with that, he scrambled off her bed and dashed away.

It was a puffy-eyed and grouchy Emma that staggered down the stairs that morning. Mrs Montero saw her coming and pushed a mug of coffee into her hands. The clock in the lounge read '5:31 AM´. Incredulously, she looked at the clock and then at Jade. The only one fully dressed and awake, Jade was sitting behind a large pile of presents. As Emma watched, Dr Montero hid a yawn.

Gabriel popped up from under the table. Mog was clutched in his arms. "Mog says Happy Birthday," he told his sister, proffering the cat to her. "Open your presents!"

Jade took Mog and kissed him. He slunk quickly away when she set him down, coming to hide behind Mrs Montero's legs.

"Open em," Tycho cried. "Open em!"

"Okay, okay." Everyone could see that Jade was eager to start. She had conducted herself with remarkable restraint so far. This restraint went out of the window as she fell on her presents with a vengeance. Paper began to fly. The largest parcel was shredded, to reveal a large wooden box. Jade flipped the lid open and gasped in delight. Everyone craned forward to see. Almost reverently, the little girl lifted her present out of its presentation box.

Metal gleamed in the early morning sunlight. Polished wood shone with a warm glow. Emma paled. Cradling the crossbow in her arms, Jade beamed at her proud parents.

"It's _wonderful_. Oh thankyou, thankyou, THANK YOU!" She twirled in delight. Reflexively, Emma ducked. "It's JUST what I wanted. Thank you Mom, thank you Dad!"

Dr Montero smiled. "No using it in the house, understood?"

"Oh yeah. Of course. Not in the house." She grinned, sighting along the polished walnut stock.

"Oh YES," her father corrected automatically.

"Whatever." Jade laid the weapon down and turned back to the serious business of present-opening.

The rest of that time-honoured ceremony was anti-climatic. From Gabriel, Jade received a huge cuddly tiger. Emma gave her a book. She squealed with delight as she tore the bright paper off.

"Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire! Excellent! I always wanted one of those three-headed dogs, you know," she told her family.

Emma shook her head. "I like the Blast-Ended Skrewts myself."

"The what?" Mrs Montero inquired, puzzled.

"You kinda had to be there." Emma told her employer with a smile, and resumed petting Hannibal, who was licking her knee with great enthusiasm.

Meanwhile, Jade had opened another present. Tycho had spent some thought on his gift. It was a Backstreet Boys single, messily wrapped but presented with a big wet kiss. As soon as Tycho looked away, Jade pulled a horrible face and wiped her mouth on her sleeve.

The birthday ritual complete, everyone was on their way out of the room, Jade lovingly stroking her new crossbow, when Tycho stopped dead in the hallway. His father nearly tripped over him as the boy dug frantically in his pockets for something. He found it and pulled it triumphantly out. It was a frog. A dead frog, to be precise. To be even more precise, it was a frog that had evidently been dead for some time. It had that certain sat-upon air about it.

"Jade!" he cried. "Jade!"

Jade turned back with a smile. "Yes Tyke?"

He ran up to her and thrust the frog into her hands. "Present," he said proudly. "From Tyke."

Jade looked down at the sorry thing in her hands. The mortal remains of the frog looked back. "Oh. Thank you. Its... lovely."

Tycho grinned. "Like it?"

"Yeah... Thanks."

He gave her another wet, sloppy kiss and ran off.

Emma was sorely tempted to go back to bed. But no. As fate would have it, Jade discovered the broken stereo in the playroom. An anguished wail echoed down the hallway. Emma trotted down the stairs and met Jade standing outside the playroom.

"The stereo won't work," she said, almost tearfully. "And I wanted to play my new CD."

Sternly repressing a guilty twinge, Emma pretended to look at the thing. It sat, sullen and mute, beside a towering pile of teen-pop anthems. After half an hour of pushing buttons and pulling wires, it was, not surprisingly, still silent. Dr Montero looked at it and proclaimed it dead, while Mrs Montero looked at _him_ with a certain scepticism on her face. Eventually, Jade got bored and wandered off, crossbow in tow. Seeing the look with which Mrs Montero favoured her husband, Emma decided to withdraw to the shower.

Alone with the doctor, Clarice folded her arms. "So," she said.

Dr Lecter smiled disarmingly. "Yes?"

"That was very clever," Starling said. "That plug's a dud."

"Is it?"

"It is. She'll _kill_ you if she ever finds out."

He put on an angelic expression of noble suffering. "I find I can bear her suffering with great fortitude."

A hint of a smile tugged at Starling's lips. "You know, you're as bad as they are," she told him, exasperated.

Dr Lecter smiled. "Of course I am," he agreed, pulling her into his arms. She rested her head contentedly against his warm chest. They enjoyed this feeling of closeness for a few moments, before Clarice pulled away.

"We'd better see what the kids are up to," she murmured, smiling.

He kissed her forehead. "That is what we employ Emma for, my dear."

Emma herself was in the Montero's lounge. She had taken cover behind the table as Gabriel had Jade's frog on a piece of string. He had previously been using it to entertain the cat. Now, tired of that, he was whirling it around his head with great enthusiasm. Nobody wanted to approach him and risk getting a face-full of deceased amphibian. Emma's sternest voice had no effect whatsoever. Neither did the threat of calling his parents.

Mrs Montero's entry into the lounge caused Emma and Jade to sigh in relief, and Gabriel to yelp and let go of the string. The frog flew at impressive speed, straight across the room. It hit Gabriel's surprised mother on the forehead with a wet _smack_.

Gabriel's eyes went round with horror. "Oops," he said.

Mrs Montero bent down and delicately picked the frog up by its hindleg. She looked enquiringly at her son, who looked as if he wished he could disappear. "Why don't you children go and play outside?" It was a mild suggestion, with overtones of steel.

"Good idea!" Jade grabbed her crossbow, younger brother and frog and headed for the garden. Her scolding voice faded into the distance. The next thing they heard was a wooden _thunk_ and the boys cheering.

Cautiously, Emma poked her head out of the window. The ever-inventive Montero kids had tied Froggy to a tree in the back garden, and were using him for target practice. So far, there were four crossbow quarrels in the tree, and none in the frog. Evidently, Jade needed some more lessons from her father.

The morning passed by unusually peacefully. With the children entertaining themselves in the garden and Dr Montero closeted in his study, Mrs Montero and Emma sat in the lounge and talked. They talked of various things, the most important being the subjects of children, holidays and horses.

"We will be holidaying in Italy this year," Mrs Montero announced, after a few moments silence.

"Italy? Nice. I went once, on a college trip to Florence." Emma smiled at the memory. Sitting in a drunken huddle with three college friends in the shadow of the Palazzo Vecchio, beneath the very window Hannibal Lecter threw the policeman Pazzi out of. Swapping horror stories and giggling over how fine the murderous doctor looked on his 'Most Wanted' poster. Yes, she though dreamily, that had been one hell of a trip.

"Oh? You know Florence? Han - _Henry_ loves the city. We own a small place in the country, a little villa not far from Florence. The children love it."

"They do?" Emma repressed a shudder at the thought of those three little darlings loose in the Uffizi gallery.

Mrs Montero grinned. "And we keep a close eye on them, never fear. No, I'm really looking forward to seeing my horses again. I miss my poor babies." She gave a delicate sniff and sipped her coffee. "Do you ride at all?"

Emma nodded vigorously. "Yes, often. What sort of horses?"

"Oh, two Barbs, a Lippizana mare and an English Thoroughbred."

Oh. Is that all? Emma wondered "I've got a mare. She's not a purebred - part thoroughbred, part Irish Draft -

A scream from the garden cut short any further horsey talk. Both Emma and Mrs Montero leapt to their feet and ran outside.

Emma was expecting to find Jade with a bolt through her foot, or to discover that she'd been using her brothers for target practice. The reality was less life-threatening, but still (in Emma's opinion) merited punishment. But, unfortunately, the Montero children were _not_ the sort of kids you'd want to send to bed without any dinner. For, in playing Robin Hood, they had managed to set fire to the garden shed. The three stood sheepishly before it, clutching what looked suspiciously like fire-arrows. There was a faint smell of petrol.

Mrs Montero stared at the flames. The shed was doomed. As everyone watched, the shrubbery began to smoulder.

Mrs Montero seemed to grow with anger.

"Right," she said. The children gulped. "Get the hose."

The hose was duly rolled out, turned on and aimed at the flames. Wisps of smoke spiralled away as the spray hissed across burning wood.

"I _told_ you we should've done this ourselves," Jade whispered to Gabriel. The boy had hidden the fire arrows, but nothing could be done about the coke bottle full of petrol. It was out in plain sight, beside the tree. He hoped nobody would discover the siphon he'd left beside the Jaguar. At least, not yet.

It was three terrified-looking children that faced their mother after the shed had been given a decent burial.

"Mom -" Jade began.

Mrs Montero raised her hand. "I don't want to know," she said shortly. "Give me the crossbow. _And_ the fire-arrows. Yes - I saw them."

"But Mother!"

"But nothing. Crossbow. Now." Her voice had reached sub-arctic temperature.

Sighing theatrically, Jade handed over the crossbow and arrows. "It was only the _shed_ Mom. It's not like we blew up Daddy's car or something."

Jade was bored. Crossbow confiscated, just because sheÂ´d burnt the shed down. What was in there except some rusty garden equipment and a lot of rats anyway? It just wasn't _fair_. And now the boys didn't want to play because they didn't want to get into trouble again, and Emma had disappeared. Kicking out moodily at a houseplant, Jade wandered down the passage. Her father's study door was ajar. She peeked in, to see him lounging in a leather recliner. He was reading a book, and laughing out loud at the funny parts. Jade considered her father for a long moment, and an evil gleam entered her maroon eyes. She made a small sound, and Hannibal Lecter looked up.

"Jade, what's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing." She stuffed her hands in her pockets and scowled at the floor. "Mum took my crossbow away 'cos I set fire to the shed."

"Is that all?"

"Yeah, Mom got really angry. Now nobody wants to play anymore." Jade looked up hopefully. "Will you come and play with me? Please, Dad?"

"Jade, sweetie, Daddy's busy."

"Busy reading a boring old book. Huh."

"Jade..."

"Please, Daddy? Please please pleeeeease? Go on..." She screwed her face up as if she was about to cry, and somewhere near the top of the list of things Dr Lecter had experienced before and never wished to again was Jade crying. She could wail and scream for hours if she deemed it necessary. And then there was the slamming doors, Barbies used as projectile weapons and _Britney Spears_ on the CD player as a kind of revenge. Aware that he was entirely twisted around his daughter's little finger, Dr Lecter gave up all hopes of a quiet evening alone with his books.

"Okay, _okay_. No need to cry. What do you want to play?"

Jade smiled. "Come upstairs and I'll show you," she said.

The kitchen. In any home, a place full of warmth, homey smells and interesting things in jars. These are usually cookies and such, but not always...

Emma held up a container of an unidentifiable greyish meat. "This?"

Mrs Montero looked up from the salad she was preparing for Jade's birthday lunch. The main meal would be held in the evening, and the servants being absent, Mrs Montero had elected to make a simple, light lunch. Her husband would deal with the main meal later. "No. It's in the other one. It's pink."

Emma replaced the grey stuff and rummaged around in the refrigerator again, emerging from the caviar and Brie with a plate of turkey and a triumphant expression. "This one?"

"That's the bunny."

Upon closer inspection, Emma decided the turkey could not be turkey, and was in fact chicken. But surely chicken meat wasn't _quite_ so dark?

"It's duck," Mrs Montero said in answer to her unspoken question. "A breed of French duck known for its full flavour and penetrating sqawk. Goes well with a nice bottle of Montrachet."

"I'll take your word for it. I don't know much about wine."

Mrs Montero smiled. "Same here, until I married Henry. My idea of a good meal was half a pint of JD and coke, and a Happy Meal. Right - salad _done_, " she kicked the fridge open and shoved the dishes inside with enough force to dislodge half its contents. The good Doctor would have had a coronary if he'd seen the terribly expensive quail slip out on to the floor. Mrs Montero picked it up carefully, dusted it and set it back on its plate. "Don't tell my husband."

Sworn to silence, Emma was sent back to the lounge for the camera, it being traditional at birthdays to take pictures of the birthdayee. The camera sat on a small, oak coffee table amid magazines. The Italian edition of Vogue lay open in splendour, showing a girl with legs several miles high, wearing a short black number that probably went into the minuses and a pair of _extremely_ expensive shoes. Emma flicked over a page or so. Glossy Goddesses pouted and smirked at her from every shiny page. She came to a stop at one young woman wearing a lacy negligee. Someone had drawn a moustache and added tassels to her breasts. Crossword clues in an engaging copperplate hand covered the rest of the picture.

Mrs Montero was waiting in the hallway when Emma returned with the camera. "I think she's upstairs, playing with her dad," she said. "I'd like to get a photo of him being sweet sometime."

Emma and her employer ventured upstairs, clutching camera and a stack of birthday cards that had come with the post. But Dr Montero and his daughter were nowhere to be seen. The playroom was deserted. The boys were in the cellar playing with their train set. Jade's bedroom was also empty, save for Mog who lay curled inside a straw sun hat.

Mrs Montero closed Jade's door softly. "One place left," she said. "The attic."

The stairs up to the attic were not as creaky as the stairs in the rest of the house, which is what enabled them to sneak up on the doctor virtually unheard. Emma swallowed a sneeze at the dust, and in bending to pick up a card she dropped, came eyeball to eyeballs with the largest spider she had ever seen. She looked at it, and it looked at her. It waved its first pair of legs at her, in the manner of a Maori warrior. Entertaining the thought of a house spider doing the haka, Emma smiled and trod down hard.

There was light at the end of the cobwebs. Mrs Montero pushed the gossamer things aside with a grumbled "must get Ilenza to clean up here," and opened the attic door.

There was silence.

Two pairs of eyes were instantly drawn to the pink. That and the tiara. It was silver wire and plastic gems, spiky and sparkly. The eyes traveled downwards, past the rapidly crimsoning face of Dr Montero, to the frock. It was pink, voluminous and winked with sequins. Lace stuck out awkwardly from the daring neckline, exposing the doctor's hairy chest and a red mark just below his collarbone. The effect was completed with a pair of old fishnets and some gossamer angels wings taken from one of Jade's old costumes. But it was, above all, _very_ pink.

There was more silence. You could have heard a surgical needle drop.

Then -

Mrs Montero grabbed the camera from Emma, raised it and snapped off a couple of shots.

The doctor's face went white. He flung his star-tipped wand aside and made a mad lunge for the camera.

"CLARICE! Don't you _DARE!"_

She danced out of his way, grinning. "Oh if ever there was a Kodak moment. This is just _perfect_.

Dr Montero abandoned dignity as a lost casue and tried to pin her against the wall and wrest the thing from her. However, his wife wriggled out of his grasp and headed for the door.

"I recommend running," she told Emma in passing.

The au pair, seeing Jade huddled in a corner, crying with laughter, wisely decided not to hang around. That little madam had probably orchestrated the entire thing. She followed Mrs Montero out of the door. They were halfway down the stairs when they heard a thud. Dr Montero had evidently attempted a pursuit and tripped over his heels.

In a masterly display of almost inhuman self control, they calmly walked the rest of the way to the lounge. Neither spoke. However, Mrs Montero closed the lounge door, turned and flopped onto the sofa, and gave over to the hysterical laughter that such an occasion demands. Emma buried her face in a cushion, shaking with laughter. She might only have been here a week, but she knew one thing at least. It was going to be extremely difficult looking Dr Montero in the face in the future.

Furthermore, Emma realised that about the only thing she could think about right now were the lyrics to _Sweet Transvestite_. It was just too much. A sudden vision of Dr Montero in his fishnets reduced Emma to incoherent giggles. Mentally cursing Richard O'Brien and most of the cast of the _Rocky Horror Show_, she buried her face in her cushion once more, until the tears went away.

A pounding on the door roused them both. Mrs Montero moved the coffee table away and the door flew open to reveal Dr Montero, minus his tiara and frock. He glared at them both.

"Dearest, what have you done with the damn camera?" he growled, ignoring Emma's smirk.

Mrs Montero's smile was angelic. "Nothing. Why, do you think I should?"

This was what had become known as 'The Britney Spears Incident´ all over again. His worst nightmare, multiplied by ten. The doctor paled. Things were not looking good. "I have a reputation to maintain, you know," he informed his wife.

"I know." She grinned. "The tiara was a nice touch. It was very knobbly."

"You can take the tiara with knobs on and - "

"And the dress," Mrs Montero continued mercilessly. "It suited you." She fluttered her eyelashes girlishly. "Darlingheart, you are an absolute _vision_ in pink."

The argument continued for several hours, but Mrs Montero never divulged the whereabouts of the camera. In the end, Dr Montero drowned his sorrows in three bottles of Chateau d´Yquem and a Terry Pratchett novel.

As Emma was drifting off to sleep that night, still chuckling over the thought of the doctor camping it up as Frank'n´Furter, something that had been niggling away in the back of her mind sidled into the front and presented itself for consideration. He had called her Clarice


	5. A Knight At The Movies

As before, all is Harris's except Emma and the kids. Tony Hopkins belongs to himself.

**Chapter 5: A Knight at the Movies**

It began with an article in the news:

_"Filming is about to begin on the controversial 'The Silence of the Lambs' - the true story behind the hunt for the serial killer Jame Gumb. The film will follow the footsteps of FBI trainee Clarice Starling through her encounters with the infamous Dr. Hannibal 'the Cannibal' Lecter, and her celebrated slaying of the monstrous Gumb. It has been confirmed that British actor Anthony Hopkins (The Elephant Man) will play Lecter, while Hollywood star Jodie Foster (Taxi Driver, The Accused) will step into Starling's 'cheap shoes'. Director Jonathan Demme, more known for his quirky comedies than gross-out horror, has predicted that the film will be a hit: _

"With all the public interest in Lecter and Starling, there is a strong desire to know what happened 'behind the scenes'. The film won't focus on the horror side of the story, but on the interaction between these two interesting people. Sure, there will be horror, but that's not what The Silence of the Lambs is about. It's about relationships and the triumph of good over evil."

While Starling certainly defeated Gumb in the earliest stages of her career, her eventual fate remains unknown. One popular theory is that she let the side of Good down, to join Lecter in a love-nest somewhere in South America. Unlikely as it seems, there are many people who are prepared to believe this story. Since her disappearance nine years ago, rumours have been flying in every direction. Internet chat rooms and message boards abound with speculation on the sort of life 'Beauty' is leading with her 'Beast' - if indeed she lives at all. Whatever happened to her, Lecter may still be out there, and perhaps it is a little early for film-makers and biographers to come out of hiding..." 

One Year Later:

"Henry?" Mrs Montero stood at the bottom of the stairs, arms folded across her chest. "Henry!"

"Yes, dear?" Dr Montero appeared at the top, deftly knotting his tie.

"Where are the tickets?"

"They're in your handbag, dearest," he said calmly, shrugging into his jacket.

Mrs Montero paused. "Oh," she said. "I didn't look there." Sheepishly, she disappeared down the passageway to the lounge.

Dr Montero adjusted his tie once more and sauntered down the stairs, whistling the tune to one of his wife's favourite songs. He tolerated her fondness for Billy Joel, just as she tolerated his new-found weakness for the novels of Terry Pratchett.

Emma came out into the hallway then, clutching a wriggling, screaming Tycho.

"I wanna go," he howled. "I wanna go!!"

Relieved to see the doctor, Emma hurried forward and thrust Tycho into his father's arms. The boy's wails doubled in volume and he began to hit his Dad over the head with his favourite rubber chicken. Emma fled.

Chaos Theory has _nothing_ on the Family Montero packing for a weekend away. Parents, children and servants dashed hither and thither, tripping over the cat and collection of dogs, packing, re-packing, hogging the bathroom, arguing and generally behaving like any family about to go on a weekend break.

In the relative safety of the kitchen, Emma flopped into an old wicker chair. "Thank God I'm not going," she muttered aloud. "But then, I get to stay with Psycho Tycho. Ah, lucky ol' me." She shuddered. Tycho was manageable for only a few hours at a time. Emma dreaded to think what he'd be like after a weekend without his parents. She suspected she'd be swinging from the chandeliers by the time they got back. Either that, or they'd find her huddled in the darkest corner of the kennel, whimpering.

The transference of luggage to the taxi waiting outside was a relatively painless operation, but it was another ten minutes before everyone was ready to go.

Gabriel held everybody up by coming downstairs dressed in white pajamas, and his maroon eyes glinted behind a plastic replica of _the_ famous mask, sold to kids for the sole purpose of scaring the living daylights out of old ladies on Halloween night.

Mrs Montero took one long look at her son's costume, then suggested that he might like to go back upstairs and change into something more suitable.

"It's appropriate, Mom," he told her seriously. "Everyone dresses up for Star Wars."

Mrs Montero rolled her eyes. Behind her, Dr Montero wore his patented block-of-granite expression that meant he was trying not to laugh.

"But Mom! It's cool, see?" Gabriel twirled on the spot, showing off the detail of his costume. Really, you had to give him credit for trying.

"But nothing." Mrs Monteros tone suggested that the matter was not only closed, but locked away, and the key was being dangled over the drain. "And yes, I'm well aware that you have a hard, deprived childhood," she added, pre-empting the traditional complaint of 'it's not fair!'

To Emma's relief, Gabriel went back upstairs and changed, then Mrs Montero shepherded her two eldest out to the taxi. Dr Montero followed, pausing on his way out.

"Oh, by the way," he said, "I've left the keys to the Jaguar on the kitchen worktop."

Emma's eyes lit up with an almost unholy glee. The Jaguar...

"Not a scratch on it, mind," he called as the door closed behind him.

"Sure," she muttered, listening intently. She heard the taxi's engine roar to life, then the crunch of gravel as it pulled out of the long, sweeping drive. Emma counted three minutes to give them time to get to the end of the road, then turned and ran to the kitchen.

The keys were there beside the kettle, on the 'Fuzzy' sheep keyring Jade had given her father.

"Tycho!" Emma called, jingling the keys in her hand. "Tyke!"

"M' here," said a subdued voice from ground-level. Emma turned and saw Tycho sitting under the table with the dogs. His face was red, and so were his eyes.

"Oh Tycho, don't cry, babe. Here - " Emma crouched down beside him, pulling a tissue out of the pocket of her jeans. Maul, the big brown dog, thumped his tail on the tiled floor and stole the flimsy bit of paper.

"Ah. Well, don't be upset, Tycho" she said as gently as she could. "It's just you and me for the weekend. We'll have fun. We'll get some movies out, go to the park, buy some pizza. How 'bout it?"

Tycho's face brightened. "Can we go to the zoo again?" he asked eagerly.

Emma paled. "Um - no, not this time, Tyke. Maybe your mum and dad will take you when they get back."

"Oh." He considered for a moment. "I've never had pizza. Dad thinks it looks like someone's regor - regur - regurteded - someone's been sick over it," he finished, grinning.

Emma winced. "Okay - burgers then. Coming?"

Unable to resist the attraction of a McDonald's reconstituted-beef treat, he scrambled out from under the table and followed Emma to the front door.

There was a brief but nasty moment setting the many alarms on the property. Emma hadn't yet worked out why the Montero's needed so many alarms. She couldn't imagine that they'd have too many priceless works of art lying around in the same building as their children. As it was, the electronic voice counting down the seconds to alarm-activation nearly gave her a heart attack. It sounded as though the mansion was about to self-destruct or blast off for outer space.

The Jaguar resided in the large garage, next to the blue and silver Mercedes, and a rather large Harley Davidson. The vision of the good doctor astride _that_ was just too much. Emma leaned against the Merc while she got her breath back. Tycho, wielding the keys, was already in the passenger seat.

Emma had an icky moment when she got in the car. About to put her hands on the leather-covered steering wheel, she paused. What if Dr Montero had...? She turned to Tycho. "Your mum doesn't drive the Jag, does she?" she asked as casually as she could.

Tycho thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Nah. At least not much. Why?"

"No reason." Emma stared at the steering wheel, then grasped it firmly with both hands.

The car was a dream to drive. It beat her ratty little Mini, back home, hollow. Black, sleek and shiny, it purred along the streets of Buenos Aires. It practically drove itself. Lost in plots to report the car stolen to Dr Montero and head for the hills with it, Emma didn't realize Tycho was talking to her until he bit her ear.

She swore loudly as the car swerved across the road, tyres squealing on the tarmac. Narrowly missing a Porsche, Emma yanked the steering wheel around, avoided a bus, and made it back to the right lane. The driver of the Porsche yelled something rude in Spanish, and Emma responded in the usual fashion, sticking her fingers up and commenting loudly on the man's probable sexuality, appearance, his mother's species and what exactly he could go and do with his shiny red car.

Back on the correct side of the road, Emma half-turned to Tycho. "What did you do that for?" she demanded furiously, rubbing her ear.

He shrugged. "Trying to tell you - we've gone past the shops. Passed a lot of 'em, actually."

"Have we?" Emma shook her head. "Oh well, never mind. We'll just keep driving until I find one that looks nice."

Tycho nodded. Fiddling with the catch on the glove compartment, he twisted it too far, and the box opened with a click. Sunglasses, CD's and a small gun in an ankle holster slithered out into his lap. Emma glanced at him. "What are you doing?" she asked as Tycho gave a strangled yell and jammed the contents back into the little compartment. Emma's eyes narrowed. "Tycho" she said evenly.

"Yeah?"

"What was that?"

"What?"

"That. It looked like - like a gun."

He shifted. "S' Mom's" he muttered uncomfortably.

"She keeps a gun in the car."

"Mmm." His tone was as non-committal as it was possible to get.

"Back in England, we don't keep guns in cars."

Tycho glared at her. "S'not England."

Emma sighed. Trying to get him to divulge information he didn't want to part with was almost impossible. Mrs Montero had told her that once she'd made him sit on the couch for over an hour - a long time where Tycho was concerned - until he told her what he'd done with her hair dryer. He'd sat there and folded her a paper aeroplane out of the centre pages of the Italian edition of Vogue. The hair dryer turned up months later, buried in the garden with a lot of dead fish.

And the family Montero - Emma still hadn't worked them out. There was _something_ going on, she was sure of it. The doctor, with his oh-so polite, but very distant demeanor (unless you counted the one time she'd encountered him in a dress), not to mention the crossbow and impressive collection of hunting knives. Mrs Montero, who secreted guns around the house. The house itself was done up like Fort Knox. And the children, with some big secret they didn't want to share. Besides, she thought, who takes young children to the premiere of a film about Hannibal Lecter? And yet, the Montero kids were unlikely to be terrified by 'Hannibal the Cannibal'. She recalled they hadn't been at all fazed when a giant boa constrictor had got loose at the zoo.

Safely away on a plane to New York, Clarice Starling relaxed. Her head drooped onto Dr Lecter's shoulder, and he gave her a small murmur of reassurance. Deeply engrossed in his book, he was oblivious to the sounds coming from Jade's Game Boy.

Clarice sighed. The theme tune to Tetris was probably one of the most annoying sounds known to man. She was certain it had originally been used as some obscure form of torture, probably invented by Chinese monks half-way up a mountain somewhere.

"Jade..."

"Mmm?" Jade did not look up.

"If you don't turn the sound off right now, it _dies_."

"Huh." Jade didn't move.

"Understood?" The chilling glare was one she'd picked up from Dr Lecter in the earliest days of their strange relationship. It had served to keep _most_ unwanted acquaintances away, and she'd discovered it had a similar effect on children. The woman sitting across the aisle caught her eye, and blanched.

Jade looked up, saw her mother's expression and switched the Game Boy off, stuffing it in her bag. She leaned over the dozing Gabriel and stole his Star Wars comic. Shooting an offended look at her mother, Jade settled down to read the continuing adventures of Luke Skywalker and company.

Mercifully, the plane flight was uneventful. The children more or less behaved, a good thing in the eyes of their parents, as they wished to avoid drawing attention to themselves.

JFK International Airport was bustling. They disembarked into a blast of cold air - used to the warmth of Brazil, Jade and Gabriel began to shiver. Gabriel pulled his father's coat around his shoulders as Clarice herded them through the Arrivals lounge. There were people everywhere. Neither Jade or Gabriel had been to New York before, and their eyes almost came out on stalks at their first view of the city as they headed towards the rental car lot.

There was no car. Dr Lecter stared at the space where their car should be, and growled deep in his throat.

"Where's the car, Daddy?" Jade asked in a small voice.

"It appears to have disappeared." He sighed. "I'll go and have a word at the desk - you three go inside and wait."

He turned to go, but Clarice collared him before he'd taken one step.

"Incognito!" she hissed.

He gave her his most charming smile (he had won Gourmet Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award five times in a row before his incarceration) and patted her on the shoulder.

"You worry too much," he murmured. "I'll just put the fear of God into them."

Satisfied, Clarice allowed herself to be swept back into the building. The children immediately headed for the shops, while their mother found the most comfortable seat she could, and settled down with a cup of coffee.

Gabriel very much liked to shop. In this, he was very much his father's son. However, his idea of shopping and Dr Lecter's idea of shopping were two completely different things. For one thing, the good doctor would never have been caught dead in the gift-shop Gabriel had found. Full of I Love NYC´ t-shirts and baseball caps, American flags and President Bush mugs, he realized it was the perfect way to wind his father up. Thus he emerged, clad in a New York, New York´ t-shirt, and Statue of Liberty hat, clutching the aforementioned mug and a huge bag of toffee.

Clarice looked up from her lukewarm coffee and magazine, and choked, spraying the stuff all over the floor.

"Gabe, honey," she sniggered, "WHAT is that on your head?"

Gabriel grinned. "Good, isn't it?"

"Your father will have a fit."

He laughed. "I know, Mom. That's why I bought it."

Dr Lecter returned then, brandishing a ticket.

"We have a car," he announced triumphantly. Then he caught sight of Gabriel's hat. "What is _that?"_

Gabriel contrived to look innocent. "It's a hat."

"I can see _that_," the doctor growled. "But what is it doing on your _head?"_

Now Gabriel looked injured. "I liked it. I got a present for you too!" He whipped the mug out of its paper bag, and thrust it into his father's hands.

Dr Lecter looked like he was about to be ill. He stared at the caricature mug. President Bush stared glassily back. Shaking his head, Dr Lecter stuffed the mug back into its bag and handed it back to Gabriel.

"I'm touched," he said, shortly. "You carry it." And he headed for the exit, muttering under his breath.

Clarice exchanged glances with her son. Both shook with badly concealed laughter. Starling rolled her eyes and headed after her indignant husband. Perhaps, she reflected, it was a bad thing that he was so easily wound up. The children took merciless advantage of it.

Ah yes, the children. They had made it to the parking lot again, when Clarice realized that they were missing Jade.

"Saw her in the bookshop," Gabriel said. "If I were you, I'd leave her there."

"We are not leaving Jade behind," Dr Lecter said firmly. "Get in the car, I'll go back and get her." So saying, he hurried back towards the terminal.

Jade had indeed found the bookstore. She was in her element, browsing through the True Crime section. As Dr Lecter wormed his way through the crowds of people, he saw her there, holding forth to small crowd of entertained bystanders. The subject was none other than Hannibal the Cannibal himself.

"Look at this!" she was saying to her audience. "Catatonia! Dr Lecter is _catatonic?_ Per-leeze, give him _some_ credit. I've got two dollars that says this guy ran from the asylum, crying."

Several people laughed. Dr Lecter groaned. Just what he _didn't_ need. What if people started wondering where she got her information from?

But Jade had prepared for this. "Yeah, my dad's a shrink," she said breezily to a man who had been wondering the very same thing.

Jade jumped as her father clamped his hand on her shoulder. She looked around, saw the thunderous expression on his face, and gulped.

"Have you _quite_ finished?" the doctor asked icily. "Or shall I wait while you complete your lecture?"

"No, no. I'm good," Jade said, hurriedly. "I was just coming to find you. Where'd you get to?"

"Only as far as the parking-lot," Dr Lecter growled, tugging his daughter along beside him. She had to run to keep up with his quick strides. "Do you think you can refrain from showing off your inside knowledge of me, just for a while? Do you _want_ to blow my cover?" He scratched angrily at the fake beard he'd applied just before boarding the plane for New York.

Jade looked aghast. "N-n-no!" she stammered. "It just makes me mad, some of the things they say about you, that's all."

A smile flickered across his face. "I'm touched. When I'm dead, you can publish." He opened the car door for her, and Jade clambered inside, upsetting Gabriel and his milkshake.

"Gabriel!"

"Yeah, sis?"

"Sis-TER," Clarice corrected, from the front.

"What is THAT?"

"It's a hat," he answered unconcernedly, going back to his comic. "Have you been reading my book?"

Almost an hour later, they were settling into the five-star hotel suite Dr Lecter had booked. And immediate battle over the beds in the smaller room ensued, with Jade emerging triumphant, pillow-feathers in her hair, to claim the double bed. Clarice and Lecter had the master bedroom to themselves, but as it had a widescreen television, Jade and Gabriel took up a semi-permanent residence on their parents bed.

A late-evening drowsiness, combined with jet-lag sent Gabriel to bed early on. With the doctor in the shower and Clarice examining the more than adequate mini-bar, Jade decided to watch some more TV.

Televised grunting and groaning, combined with some extremely bad music, drew Clarice's attention away from the whiskey. She looked up to see her daughter sitting on the bed, mouth hanging open, engrossed in a porn movie.

Starling acted fast. She swooped down to the TV and hit the Off´ button. Jade blinked, dazed, then turned to gape at her mother.

"Mom?"

"Yes, dear?"

"When I get a boyfriend, will I be able to do - "

"Ask your father," Clarice interrupted automatically. "And it's time you were in bed, young lady. Okay?"

"Yeah." Jade paused. "Can people _really_ do that with a hosepipe?" she asked curiously.

Clarice bit her lip. "Ask you father. Bed!"

She felt bad, passing the buck to Dr Lecter, but at least he'd be able to deal with it without laughing. She hoped.

Upon entering her room, Jade nearly tripped over her brother. It seemed that he too had been sampling the contents of the mini-bar. Jade looked down at him and giggled.

"Gabe!" She nudged him with her foot. "Wake up!"

"Mmmph... Yousa no Jedi," he muttered, oblivious.

Jade shrugged. "Fine." She dropped his cuddly Darth Maul beside him, and went to bed.

Next Day - Evening.

Broadway was heaving. The chauffeur-driven Mercedes Dr Lecter had hired from the hotel got stuck behind a row of police cars. If the driver thought the whole family suddenly donning sunglasses was odd, he didn't say anything.

Dr Lecter, looking out of the window, was slightly startled to see his face on all the billboards. A closer inspection revealed that they were not actually pictures of him, but as close as damn.

_The Silence of the Lambs_ premiere was being held tonight on Broadway. The doctor indulged in a little chuckle. He had been looking forward to this all year. The slightly heavier-than-usual police presence could be tolerated, as long as the acting was up to par.

Waving their gold-embossed tickets at a slightly shellshocked-looking usherette, the Lecters were shown into the cinema itself. Star-spotting was out, they had been rushed inside so fast. Clarice resisted the children's pleas for popcorn and fizzy drinks. She had to physically restrain Jade when the little girl spotted the chocolate ice-cream.

"This is a perfect time to behave," Clarice told her offspring, firmly removing a bag of peanuts from Gabriel's hand. "Think of it as one of Daddy's dinners, okay?"

Gabriel laughed. "Does that mean we're gonna be eating actors for weeks, if whassizname pisses Dad off?"

"Gabriel! Don't be so rude!"

Jade shuddered. "I hope everything goes okay. I don't like old people. Madame Sallier was tough."

Clarice shushed her as screaming from outside announced the arrival of the film's stars.

"Can we meet him, Mom?" Gabriel begged, excited. "Please?"

Clarice weighed up the pros and cons of Jade and Gabriel meeting the on-screen incarnation of their father, and immediately wished she hadn't. It did not bear thinking about. Shaking her head, she hurried them away from the noise.

Gabriel was disappointed. He really wanted to meet Anthony Hopkins, if only to see if he actually did look like Dr Lecter. One glimpse of a broad-shouldered man in a tux was not enough. However, the movie was starting.

The Lecters had booked seats near the back, where it was darkest. Silence fell as everyone's eyes turned toward Clarice Starling, ponytail bobbing as she negotiated an assault course. Everyone, that is, except the Clarice sitting in the audience. She had covered her eyes with her hands.

Dr Lecter leaned over to her and gently pried her fingers away. "Now now, dear heart, it's not _that_ bad," he whispered solicitously.

Clarice looked up at the screen, where her counterpart was now talking with Crawford. She stuck her tongue out at the screen, leaned back and folded her arms. She was waiting for the first scream.

Five minutes later, there was a tiny, horrified scream.

"Oh my God," Clarice whispered, staring transfixed at the screen. "I did _not_ look like that." She turned to Dr Lecter. "Tell me I didn't look like that."

He gave her an evil grin. "Well, I didn't want to say anything, but - " He left it hanging.

Clarice glared at the doctor, and punched him lightly on the shoulder.

"Sssshhh!" somebody behind them whispered. A plea that went entirely ignored by Jade and Gabriel. Neither of them had seen a film this good before. And _that_ line was just too good to ignore.

"I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti!" Jade hissed to the lady sitting beside her. The lady gave her a Look, and edged away. Jade grinned. "And I'm giving very serious thought - to eating your husband..." she added. The woman might have been okay, had not Gabriel chosen that moment to inform her that human liver was best served with a big Amarone, as it complemented the rich flavour of the meat.

The Lecter children hi-fived each other in satisfaction as the lady got up and left.

"Shut _up!"_ the voice from behind hissed.

Dr Lecter sighed. He so hated to be rude, but - Turning in his seat, he stared down at the impertinent little man who had dared to speak to _his_ family like that. The man's eyes widened, and he shrank back into his seat. The expression on Dr Lecter's face was not to be trifled with. The man gulped.

"Sorry," he whispered.

Dr Lecter stared right down at him for a second or two longer. The little man started to shake. "Apology accepted," he said, finally. "Don't do it again."

He turned back to the film, just in time to see himself savaging the guards. Despite himself, Dr Lecter couldn't help grinning. "Ah, those were the days," he murmured, licking his lips, as his children gave a huge cheer. Beside him, Clarice was indignant.

"What did they do _that_ for?" she hissed, turning to Dr Lecter. "We KISSED in Memphis! How dare they!"

"Mmm, I remember," the doctor purred. "Yet I suspect they felt morally bound to cut out all the really - interesting - bits."

"Hmph!" Clarice pouted. Dr Lecter smiled. She was adorable when she pouted. Unable to resist, he bent closer and kissed her.

Jade glanced at her parents and sighed. Poking Gabriel, she jerked her head towards Hannibal and Clarice, who were making out like teenagers in the back rows. "They're at it again," she observed, disgusted. "Like rabbits."

Hannibal and Clarice finally came up for air as the end-credits rolled up on the screen, and the audience started to applause.

Clarice got up, stretched, and headed for the bathroom. When she returned, she found Dr Lecter lurking in a corner.

"What's up?" she asked, putting her arms around him.

"Hmm? Nothing. Just thinking about the film."

"I didn't think it was _too_ bad, if you discount her - my - dress sense, and the ridiculous cuts they've made. And don't get me started on the accent..."

Dr Lecter's face went poker-straight. "Um, where are the kids?"

"I don't know - probably charming someone into getting them free food."

"Hadn't we better find them?"

"You worry too much. They'll be fine. They're _your_ children, after all." Clarice pulled him closer. "I thought Sir Tony was very sexy as you... C'mere, Sexy..."

Although he loathed to cut the moment short, Dr Lecter nevertheless felt obliged to point out that he'd spotted the children.

"Huh? Where are they?" Clarice spun around. She saw them at once. They had cornered Anthony Hopkins. "Oh hell - Hannibal!"

As the Lecters emerged from their shadowy corner, another shape became visible behind them. Jonathan Demme emerged from the cover of the plastic palm tree he'd had to hide behind. He stared after the elegant couple making their way across the floor, and fumbled for his phone.

A sleepy voice answered. "Yes?"

"Hi Mary, it's me."

"Jon? What's wrong?"

"Um. About that sequel... I've decided, ah -"

"You're going to do it!"

"I'm _not_ going to do it. Never, under any circumstances, am I going to make another movie about Hannibal Lecter. Ever."

With that, he hung up. Some other poor schmuck could deal with it next time.

The elegant couple were nowhere to be seen.

Jade and Gabriel were having fun. They'd already spotted Madonna and Nicole Kidman, teased Tom Cruise, and now they'd cornered Anthony Hopkins.

He turned away from the big black man he'd been talking to, to find two children regarding him solemnly. The girl giggled.

"Hello," Gabriel said, in a friendly tone. "Can we have your autograph?"

"Sure." At this, both kids began to giggle.

"You don't sound much like Hannibal now," Jade ventured, in between giggles.

"But it was very good," Gabriel added hurriedly. He wanted an autograph, even if Jade didn't. "We thought you were very realistic - "

"But he never yells like that - you have to really - " Jade drew in her breath to demonstrate, when Gabriel clamped his hand over her mouth.  
"She means she'd really like that autograph," he said. Jade, her mouth held firmly shut, could only nod.

Starling slipped easily through the crowds towards her children, who were now having a spirited argument. As she reached them, she discovered that they were fighting over the merits of _very_ hungry dogs versus killer pigs. They hadn't got to the physical stage of the argument yet, but a dazed-looking Anthony Hopkins was trying to sidle away without being spotted.

"But pigs have bigger teeth!" Jade didn't care if the rest of the party could hear her too. Gabriel certainly could, as he shook his head, temporarily deaf. Having Jade scream in your ear tended to do that.

Clarice grabbed her son in one hand, her daughter in the other, flashed a dazzling smile at the actor, thanked him for finding them, and made her escape. Jade's wail echoed down the street.

"But Mother! I didn't get his autograph!"

"I did," Gabriel said, smugly.

The Montero Mansion.

Emma flung herself onto the couch. Tycho was asleep, the rest of the family would be back tomorrow, and she had pizza. Flicking the television on, Emma trawled through Spanish television channels before she found BBC World Service. Lifting a slice of ham and pineapple pizza to her mouth, she took a huge bite of that illicit treat. The Montero's never ate pizza.

Adverts for shampoo and skin-care creams didn't hold her attention for long. She took a swig of JD and coke, and was just about to swallow when an eerily familiar voice came from the TV. Startled, she spat the drink over the carpet as the TV promotion for _The Silence Of The Lambs _reeled off a sequence of the film's more important scenes. Many of them seemed to feature -

"Dr Montero!" Emma yelled, leaping to her feet in shock. On screen, Hannibal Lecter hissed at someone she couldn't see. Like the old Doc Montero at the zoo. Hell, he looked so much like him. But Dr Montero had maroon eyes.

A very quiet and horrible thought struck Emma then. Something she remembered from the Wanted poster she'd seen in passing in Florence. Dr Lecter has maroon eyes...

When the penny drops, realizations flow thick and fast, one after the other. If Dr Montero was Lecter, then Mrs Montero must be Clarice Starling. Another memory surfaced. Once, he had called her Clarice. A slip of the tongue. Emma shuddered. What to do? Go to the police?

"Are you insane, girl?" she demanded, out loud. "Or it'll be shish-kebab for sure. Or - a nice English breakfast, indeed..." Going to someone was out of the question. What would she say anyway? Excuse me, but I think my employer eats people?´

Half an hour and half a packet of Marlborough later, Emma had almost got a plan. Make up some story, and go home. Home. Emma had never wanted to go home as much as she did now.

"Of course, I could be wrong. Could be. Could just be some bizarre coincidence, or some joke the kids cooked up." She favoured the television with a sickly grin. This explained a _lot_ about those kids.

When the rest of the family arrived early next morning, they found Emma asleep on the couch. Mrs Montero leaned over her and shook her shoulder gently.

"Emma, dear. Emma!"

Emma opened her eyes, saw Mrs Montero and screamed. The children, crowding round for hugs, leapt back.

"What's the matter?" Mrs Montero's hand went to her hip, as if reaching for a gun.

"Uh, I've gotta go," Emma mumbled. She took a brown envelope off the coffee-table and thrust it into her employer's hands. "My notice." Taking advantage of the shocked silence, Emma ran out.

Clarice shooed the children out, sat down and opened the envelope. The letter was blunt enough. Emma had wanted to leave immediately, but it was polite to give a week's notice, and after figuring some things out, she really _didn't_ want to be impolite.

Dr Lecter was not surprised.

"She knows," he said softly, reading the letter.

"I know. And what are we going to do about it?" Clarice looked worried. "Maybe she'll stay. I'll talk to her."

Dr Lecter nodded. "Please do." He smiled briefly. "Given the circumstances, she's more likely to talk to you."

Clarice sighed. "It's such a shame," she noted. "She's such a nice girl. And the children adore her." She suddenly looked at Lecter. "Don't start planning the gory details yet - she might be persuaded..."

He looked injured. "That was the furthest thing from my mind. Really." Folding the letter up, he stuck it in his pocket. "We'll have to wait and see."


	6. Livin' La Vita Lecter

**Disclaimer:** Hannibal and Clarice are the property of Thomas Harris. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Chapter 6: Living La Vita Lecter**

_Knock_

The hesitant tap roused Emma from what had hitherto been a soundless sleep.

_Knock_

Resolutely, she rolled over and stuffed her head under the pillow. Nevertheless, it came again, louder this time.

_Knock_

An irritated growl rose from her throat as she stumbled out of bed, to the door. A solemn delegation awaited her outside. Three pairs of maroon eyes and one pair of brown stared up at her. Maul, the dog, gave a delighted whine and sprang past Emma's legs, into her room. The mastiff leapt up onto the bed and proceeded to make himself comfortable, turning around several times before settling happily into the messy tangle of sheets.

Emma looked at the children. The children looked back.

"Yes?" she asked, not quite hiding a yawn. Tycho and Gabriel both stared pointedly at their older sister. Jade straightened her 'Britney!' top and shuffled her feet, studying the plush carpet nervously. Finally, she spoke.

"Mommy says you're leaving," she muttered, going red. Emma sighed. It was going to be one of those mornings.

"You'd better come in," she told them. Obediently, the three shuffled in. Emma closed the door quietly as Jade and her brothers settled themselves on the edge of the bed. "Okay. It's true, I am leaving next week. I'm sorry, but I have to go home..." Liar. The word rose, unbidden, in her mind.

Gabriel's lower lip quivered. "Is it because you don't like us anymore?"

Emma shook her head. "Gabe, love, that's not it at all. I love you all very much."

"But we don't want you to go!" Jade announced, looking to her brothers for support.

"Yeah. You're cool. You play Jedi Knights..."

"An' I got McDonalds!" Tycho ventured, beaming at the memory.

There was a small silence. Naturally, Jade broke it. "Then why are you going, Emma? Is it because you don't like Mommy and Daddy? They like you."

Ah. What could she really say to make them feel better? Sorry, kids, but I won't work for serial killers? I'm a vegetarian?

"Your parents have been very kind," Emma said diplomatically. Another silence hung timidly in the air. The children gave each other a meaningful look.

"Oh. That." Gabriel said finally, nodding slightly when she flinched. Jade simply stared.

"Oh, they'd _never_ do that!" she exclaimed, horror-struck.

Gabriel clamped a hand over his sister's wayward mouth. Smiling at Emma, he hauled the larger girl off the bed and out the door. "C'mon, Tyke. Maul!" The big dog, hearing his name, scrambled off the bed, gave Emma a wet lick on her knee and trotted out. Tycho was the last to leave.

"Please won't you stay?" he pleaded, his eyes big and imploring. "Please?"

"I'll think about it," Emma promised breezily, putting the duvet back on the bed. Giving her a brilliant smile, Tycho left, banging the door behind him.

It was a while before Emma dared to go down to breakfast. However, since the Mon - the Mont - the _whoevers_ had arrived home from New York late the previous night, she felt reasonably certain they'd still be in bed. Which, thankfully, they were. And the breakfast-room was deserted, the children off amusing themselves. Emma threw herself into a seat. The peace was blissful.

Bliss, however, was interrupted by a very tired-looking mother-of-three in search of coffee.

Emma gave her employer a wan smile as the other poured coffee from the pot and helped herself to toast.

Clarice studied the younger woman for a moment, before speaking around a mouthful of toast, a habit her husband deplored. "I was hoping you would be down here. Can we talk?"

The request was polite and totally non-threatening, but Emma gulped. "Sure." Here we go, she mused. How come they never mentioned this sort of thing in child-care classes? She suppressed a slightly hysterical giggle at the thought of Parenting for Psychopaths 101, and sipped her coffee to cover the moment.

Clarice set her coffee mug down, twiddling briefly with the handle. When she spoke next, it was with an American accent stronger than Emma had previously heard. "Henry and I were disappointed to receive your resignation."

Emma ducked her head, hoping the woman hadn't heard her snort, because if his name was Henry, then she was the Queen Mother.

Starling's policing talents detected disbelief. And fear. "I see," she said slowly.

"You do?"

"The children have already begged you to stay, Emma. They are very fond of you. As am I."

Shifting uneasily, Emma considered her next move. "It was a mistake coming here," she said at last. "I feel that it's better if I leave now." The words 'if you'll let me' hung unspoken above the breakfast table.

Clarice leaned forward. "Not at all," she said earnestly. "Honestly, Emma, you're the only one we've had so far who's had _any_ effect on those horrors of mine."

Emma clapped her hands over her mouth as harsh laughter escaped her. Starling regarded her steadily. If they gave her a J.C.B, she wasn't sure if she could dig this hole any deeper.

"Name your price, Emma. Money is no object."

She bet it wasn't. "I'm sorry, Mrs Montero, I really am - "

Clarice sighed. "Why don't we stop this pretence? I know you know who I am. I don't know how you figured it out, but it's patently obvious you've drawn some conclusions for yourself. You may call me Clarice."

A fragile silence followed her words. In it, Emma considered her options. She was not one to have hunches, and of all the times to be right... She had a sudden, unpleasant vision of her family huddled around an open grave, standing amid the cold grey drizzle of an English afternoon, shaking their heads and talking in hushed voices. "But she was such a NICE girl" Auntie Enid would be saying to anyone who would listen. "Really, these foreign countries are no place for nice English girls..."

"It was a terrible thing," Uncle Peter would be telling Barbara, his next-door neighbour. "Found her in an alley, you know. Missing her -"

With a shudder, Emma tore her thoughts away from the morbid image. Uncle's fascination with gory details aside, she had no wish to be found in an alley anywhere. In any condition, other than a healthy one.

Clarice was speaking again. "I hope you'll change your mind," she said quietly. "Please, give us a chance. Come on holiday with us. Tuscany is lovely this time of year."

"What, and end up in an alley in Florence instead? It might be more up-market than Buenos Aires, but no thank-you."

Starling's jaw dropped, and belatedly, Emma realized that she had spoken aloud. Smiling feebly, she attempted to undo the damage. "Uh. Um, oh hell. I'm sorry, Mrs Mon - Mrs, uh, Starling. Oh _bugger_."

Inwardly, she cringed. Evidently, that hole could get deeper. She wondered what to request as an epitaph.

It took a moment for Emma to realize that Clarice was laughing. "Emma, I assure you, that was the last thing on my mind."

Perhaps it would be something tasteful along the lines of 'She was such a _nice_ girl, but her mouth did tend to disengage from her brain at times'. Which could only be said was the gospel truth.

Starling smiled reassuringly. "You don't need to worry on that account, my girl. Hannibal's far too impressed with the way you deal with the kids. So - will you join us for Florence? The children really are upset, you know." She left it hanging.

Emma winced at the name being spoken aloud. "Do I have a choice?"

"Of course," Clarice said calmly, buttering a slice of toast.

Which, naturally, indicated otherwise. "How can I refuse?"

Clarice Starling smiled. "Thank you. I hoped you'd change your mind."

"Mm. But - let's get this sorted. I know diddly, okay?"

"Absolutely," Starling assured her. "But it's certainly easier if you call me Clarice. Mrs Montero in public, of course."

"Of course." She wondered if this was the moment to request easily identifiable meals.

Moments later, Emma choked on her toast as a distinctly unwelcome voice growled "Good morning, Emma..." in her ear. With a small scream, she leapt from her chair, upsetting both it and her coffee. _He_ stood behind her, a cheerful morning smile upon his features.

Clarice rolled her eyes. "Hannibal! Don't tease." she scolded as the good doctor courteously held the door open for Emma as she fled the room.

"She spooks too easily," he observed, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

His wife snorted. "Darling, if you had tried that with me when I was her age, I imagine that I would have shot you."

"Undoubtedly," he murmured, kissing her. After helping himself to bacon, the doctor spoke again. "Talking of firearms, what happened to that .45 you keep under the pillow?"

She gave Lecter a blank look. "It's still there."

"Are you sure? I didn't see it when I made the bed."

Starling shrugged. "It's there somewhere, Hannibal. By the way, Emma agreed to stay."

Lecter's eyebrows rose. "Really? How ever did you persuade her?"

"With some difficulty. The poor girl is convinced that she's going to end up on a menu."

He sighed. "An inevitable conclusion to draw, really. I hope you reassured her on the matter."

"Naturally." Starling poured herself another coffee.

"Perhaps I should talk to her myself. Reassure her that I'm a humanitarian at heart." He grinned wickedly.

Clarice looked at him. "You leave her alone. She's jumpy enough without you coming out with those one-liners they love to quote in the papers. We won't see her for dust if you say things like that."

The doctor gave her his blankest look. "As if I would."

In a bathroom not very far away, the subject of their discussion was trying very hard to enjoy a relaxing bath. Ever since she was a little girl, the bath had been a place of refuge for Emma. In a house full of horse-mad adults and over-active, over-argumentative and altogether too-nosy-for-their-own-good brothers, the bathroom had been the only place one was guaranteed some privacy. This is, if the lock had decided to work that day. The bathroom in the Lecter's mansion was rather splendid, with a tub you could swim in, real gold plating on the taps and a frog-shaped bath-mat (the master of the house had, however, drawn the line at penguins on the shower-curtains).

Emma slid into the bathtub with a sigh, sinking until only her head was visible above the bubbles. She was trying to relax. It was difficult, since she had just agreed to accompany the FBI's Most Wanted on a family holiday.

Unaccountably, she laughed. The whole situation was just so damn surreal. She could imagine sending her mother a postcard from Florence. 'Dr Lecter sends his regards...' Mother's face would be quite a picture, at that. At least, she mused, she would have an interesting chapter or two for her memoirs.

Emma reached for the shower radio. She twiddled with the tuner for a moment until she found BBC World Service. She was just beginning to calm down, humming along to something by Tom Jones, when her tiny bit of peace was shattered yet again.

The bathroom window exploded inwards as a gunshot boomed out across the gardens. "What the FUCK?!" she screeched, as, showered in broken glass, she leapt from the tub like a scalded cat. Behind her, an innocent bottle of shampoo exploded in a fountain of sticky green liquid. Emma pushed trembling fingers into the mess, wiping it away. She saw the bullet embedded in the tiles, stared at it for a few seconds and daintily toppled backwards onto the frog mat in a dead faint.

Twenty minutes later, Clarice was reviving the by-now gibbering au pair in Dr Lecter's study. The good doctor himself had been left to deal, very sternly, with his children. Emma, on her third glass of brandy, watched hazily as Clarice refilled the glass and passed it over. The golden-brown liquid barely touched the sides of the tumbler before Emma had downed it and held the glass out for a refill. Wordlessly, Clarice complied.

A silence.

"I apologize for my children," Clarice said eventually, judging that Emma should be able to talk by now.

Emma turned to look at her. "Where did they get it?"

Starling shifted. "I left it under my pillows. Just in case, you understand. They are not allowed in the master bedroom - "

She was cut off. "Just in case of _what?_ Just in case the penny drops with the local authorities? Or just in case you two fall out?"

There was a sigh. "Just in case of - well - anything, really." She looked at Emma. "Are you all right?"

Emma shivered. "What do you think? They nearly bloody killed me."

Clarice took a sip of brandy herself. "One can become accustomed to being shot at," she said with a rueful smile.

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not, I think," Emma said shortly, pulling her bathrobe tighter around herself.

**Fiesole - Tuscany. Three days later.**

Despite the parental threat of abandoning this year's holiday, proceedings had gone on apace and here they were in the historic town of Fiesole, not twenty minutes drive from the great Florence herself.

Emma was exceedingly glad to arrive. She privately felt that if she'd had to listen to Jade singing 'We're All Going On A Summer Holiday' one more time on the journey, she would have followed Dr Lecter's shining example of humanity and given the girl a pair of concrete Wellington boots and a free swim in the Arno. However, they were at their destination now. The villa itself was exquisite. It was the stereotypical Tuscan house - white plaster and terracotta tiles, complete with olive trees and numerous hanging baskets overflowing with gaudy geraniums.

It had taken the best part of an afternoon for Emma to explore the grounds. The gardens were immaculately kept, yet artfully dishevelled. Following the sound of cooing had led her to a picturesque courtyard. A great bronze pig rose from a fountain, water trickling from his tusked jaws. The source of the sound proved to be a dovecote, inhabited by six pairs of the pretty birds. Even more interesting than the immense gardens, however, were the stables.

Clarice had made a beeline for them upon arrival. She had not emerged by dinner-time and Emma had been politely asked to go and retrieve her. She found Starling in one of the stalls, largely by following the stable noises - human clucking and the clatter of dropped brushes. The recipient of Clarice Starling's undivided attention was not (for once) her husband. A bay Barb stallion stood patiently in his stall as Clarice fussed around him like a mother hen. The compact bay was dozing, his ears drooped back and one hind-leg slightly cocked, his weight balanced carefully between the remaining three legs and a convenient wall. Starling, trying to squeeze past, gave him an exasperated slap on the shoulder. "Get over! Anyone would think you were a mule, not a fiery steed of the desert."

The bay gave her an offended look, shifted his weight over and pointedly went back to sleep.

Clarice retrieved her dandy-brush from the floor and dropped it into the grooming-kit. She looked at Emma. "Like to ride him tomorrow?" she asked, glancing at the Barb. Emma regarded it suspiciously.

"How long since he's been ridden?"

Starling shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't had the opportunity to ask Stefan."

Shaking her head, Emma declined. "No thanks. You can go first. Dinner's ready, by the way."

"Oops. Don't want to upset Hannibal - just coming..." She disappeared into the tack-room for a moment, reappearing with her coat. "Let's go."

With the morning came the sun. And the birdsong. It seemed to Emma that the whole bird population of Tuscany was perched outside her window, giving it their all. She gave up the idea of further sleep, and instead lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

It might not be too bad, really, she mused. The prospect of locking the kids somewhere in the attic and going riding appealed to her greatly, but she rather regretfully concluded that it was their holiday, not hers.

That morning, the stables were indeed the focus of attention. Clarice, Emma and Gabriel were going riding. Starling had elected to ride the bay Barb, name of Saran. Saran was not in a cheerful mood this morning. Whether it was disgruntlement at being woken up so early in the morning, or just a general bad temper Emma couldn't tell. The horse was becoming increasingly restless. By the time Dr Lecter came down to see them off, Saran was practically dancing with impatience. The doctor ran his hand down the horse's finely curved neck, whispering soothing nothings in his ear. Saran was not impressed, particularly when Dr Lecter went to tighten the girth.

The stallion spun away from him, revealing his bloodline in the fluidity of his movement, head flung back, hooves barely touching the cobbled yard. Fire barely contained in skin and bone, bred of the desert for speed, endurance and intelligence. Muscles bunched beneath the soft hide as he swung his hindquarters around, the power of tightly coiled steel springs in the kick that connected solidly with the doctor's groin.

Lecter went dead-white, doubled up and wheezed.

"Dad!" Jade exclaimed, scandalized as he hissed something in Latin and sat down hard.

Emma grabbed Saran's head as Clarice slid off the stallion's back, rushing to her husband's side. Dr Lecter glared at the horse as he spat out classically educated swearwords and clutched at his crotch.

Although it was probably unwise to laugh at the world's most notorious serial killer after his delicate anatomy had come into contact with the business end of an angry horse, Emma rather heartlessly found that she was trying not to grin. After putting Saran back in his stall, she saw that Clarice had gently encouraged her husband to get off the floor and was leading him away back to the house.

Silence reigned in the villa - until Clarice undertook to examine the afflicted part. After five minutes of listening to the argument through the thin walls, Emma relocated to a pleasant, sunny terrace with a view of the local countryside. The children were absent, which was just as well. Jade had been in fits of giggles over 'Daddy's Accident' while both Gabriel and Tycho had gone almost as white as their father. No doubt they were off with some of the children from town - out of everyone's hair for the day.

It was the most _relaxing_ day Emma had enjoyed since they'd all disappeared off to New York for the premiere of _The Silence Of The Lambs_. So relaxing, that she rather cynically found herself wondering how long it was going to last.

The peace ended three days and several hours after Dr Lecter's unfortunate accident. The only item on the list for today was shopping, in Florence, no less. The children had clamoured for this, and Emma herself was eager to see the city. Her previous recollections of fair Firenze were coloured by a rosy, alcoholic haze. The opportunity to shop, shop, shop was just too good to miss. So it was in a good mood that Emma wandered the villa, looking for an unoccupied bathroom. The main one was firmly locked. As Emma approached it, she became aware of a voice. Someone was singing in a very pleasant baritone. She halted in astonishment as she made out the words.

"Although this is a fight I can lose... the accused is an Innocent Man... Oh yeah I _am_... an Innocent _Ma-a-an..."_

Emma smirked, wishing she had a tape recorder. Someone was evidently feeling better. She tapped politely on the door. "Doctor, would you mind turning that down, please? We can hear it downstairs."

There was a sheepish silence from within. "Of course, Emma," replied the baritone. "Sorry to have disturbed you."

"No trouble, Doctor." Emma shook her head. They did say that he was insane, after all... She wandered off down the hallway, humming the tune to _An Innocent Man_ to herself.

Finding an empty bathroom was a task in itself. Having found one, Emma was not particularly surprised when, a few moments later, there was a tap at the door. "Emma?" It was Gabriel, his voice slightly muffled through the panelling. "Mom says we're leaving in ten minutes."

Florence. Child of Ancient Rome, darling of the Renaissance. The names of those who have made it famous echo across time, whether by fame or infamy: Dante, Giotto, Brunelleschi, Michaelangelo, Donatello, Botticelli, the Medici. And, in certain circles, Hannibal Lecter. The second Monster of Florence, if indeed he was not the first, a popular theory among Florentines.

Monster of Florence or not, the doctor certainly knew where he was going. Leaving the car outside the no-traffic zone in the city centre, he led his brood on foot through the streets, across the Ponte Vecchio, into the heart of Florence. The bleak, battlemented Palazzo Vecchio reared above them, overshadowing the piazza in which they stood.

"The Piazza della Signoria," Dr Lecter announced, sounding for all the world like a tour guide. Emma, only half-listening, found her gaze being dragged up the Palazzo wall, finally coming to rest on a balcony several floors up. _The_ balcony. She chanced a glance at Dr Lecter, who was by now posing for a photo with Tycho, and swallowed hard.

Fortunately, Emma was rescued by Clarice, who having observed her go slightly green, decided to take her shopping.

"Henry!" she called. "Emma and I are going shopping. We'll see you outside the Uffizi later, okay?" He nodded and waved them away. Starling explained as she and Emma left the square. "He'll lecture for hours if you let him. The history of Florence is fascinating, but for God's sake never let him get into Professor mode."

Emma giggled, despite herself. "Professor mode?"

"Oh yeah. He'd make a great teacher. He was giving a lecture on Dante, I believe, when he threw Inspector Pazzi off the balcony with a rope around his neck." There was a pause.

"So he'd make a good teacher then?" Emma asked carefully. Starling just smiled.

Shopping in Florence was a somewhat chaotic experience. Emma rather muzzily remembered the shops on the Ponte Vecchio, and getting dragged in to a very upmarket pharmacy, where Clarice seemed to go mad. Three hours and several shopping-bags (each) later, they stood outside the famed Uffizi Gallery, waiting for the rest of the family to turn up. Clarice peered up and down the street. No sign of Lecter _or_ the children (and it was not inconceivable that they were wandering the streets independent of either parent). Starling fished in her pocket and pulled out a rather crumpled packet of Dunhill International. She lit one up, looking rather guilty, and passed the packet over to Emma.

"Can't he smell them?" Emma wanted to know.

"Of course. There's not a lot he can't smell. But what I do on my own is my private business. Unless it somehow endangers our freedom, he won't interfere."

A lot of women would kill for a husband like that, Emma reflected. Of course, Starling already had.

An hour later, Emma had come to the conclusion that you could definitely have too much of a good thing. She was certain her brain was unable to cope with the culture overload. It was impossible to take it all in. "I'm a Philistine," she told Dr Lecter ruefully as they trailed out of the Duomo Baptistry. He laughed, showing his small, white teeth.

"No-one ever saw or understood Florence in a day," he told her. "Take some Aspirin and we'll stop in a cafe. I know a good one..." and he was off again, family trailing in his wake. Like a brood of ducklings, Emma thought, amused.

Dusk had fallen, and still the Lecters showed no sign of returning to the car any time soon. Tagging along at the back of the party, Emma felt superfluous to requirements. Hannibal, Clarice and their children all spoke Italian like natives, and even Tycho knew his Botticelli from his Bartolommeo, and could quote great chunks of Machiavelli. Feeling a little like a spare groom at a wedding, Emma dawdled behind to light a cigarette. When she looked up again, they were gone.

Cursing under her breath, she hurried down on down the street. There was no sign of them. Emma hauled up short when the street ended in another piazza. It looked like she was back at the Vecchio. "Oh bloody _hell,"_ she muttered aloud. "Dr Montero?" No answer, although several people looked around.

Growling choice obscenities, Emma strode across the rapidly darkening square. Leaving the piazza, Emma picked the widest, most populous street and went down it. With a bit of luck she'd get back to the Ponte Vecchio, cross it and be able to find that car-park. It hadn't been too far from the river.

A shadow flickered at the edge of her vision. Turning her head slightly, Emma saw dark figures lurking on one side of the street. She picked up her pace, hearing one laugh behind her.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder. "Wha -? " She spun around, expecting to see Dr Lecter looking angry. Instead, a young man smiled at her cheerfully.

"Are you lost?" he asked in accented English, sounding concerned. "I can help you."

Relieved, Emma smiled back. "I'm looking for a car park. We came over from the bridge - " she gestured in what she hoped was the direction of the old bridge " - and, yeah, I'm lost."

He grinned. "I know the place. Follow me."

They backtracked up to the Piazza della Signoria. The square was illuminated now, the Palazzo Vecchio quite magnificent against the night sky. Mystified, Emma turned to her rescuer. "Um, aren't we going the wrong way? For the river, I mean?"

He gave her another smile. "No worries. I know where I'm going. There is another bridge not far from here. That is where cars are left."

Only slightly reassured, Emma followed her guide for what seemed like ages. He did indeed seem to know where he was going, cutting down side-streets and across squares, now heading for the river, now going away from it. When he disappeared into a dark side street, Emma didn't think much of it. She followed, her footsteps echoing on the old stone. She followed - until she realized there was no-one in front of her to follow.

The blow came from behind, sending her sprawling to the cobbles. Emma instinctively rolled away, raising her head to see. A movement above her, and the sudden fire of a boot as it thudded into her ribs. She curled into a tight ball, tasting blood on her lips.

'Shitfuckshitfuckshitfuck' was about all her terrified mind could conjure, and it did little to improve matters.

She crawled away during a pause in the rain of blows, then hands grabbed her ankles, dragging her back across the stone, scraping her face on the street. The hands came again, tore at her clothes, tugged at her jeans. Emma kicked out hard, rewarded by a grunt of pain as she caught him in the groin.

_shitfuckshitfucksomebodyhelpmepleeeease_

He lashed out, striking her in the side of the head, and Emma screamed. It felt good to scream. She screamed again and again and again, not realizing or not caring that her screams were soon joined by another's. The other's voice fell silent after a few moments. The blows had stopped.

Hands on her again, and she hit out once more, another scream rising in her throat. She felt her fists connect with something solid. Somebody caught her wrists, holding them away.

"Emma. Stop." An unmistakable tone of command, the unmistakable voice of Hannibal Lecter. "It's _me_, Emma. Only me."

She stared up at the shape looming over her. He released her wrists. "Dr Lecter?" she said hoarsely.

"Yes."

"God, I'm glad you came."

"Can you get up, Emma?"

She blinked. "I think so. Where is he, sir?"

A pregnant pause.

"Oh." Almost relieved, Emma twisted away from Lecter. She put her hands on the cold stone to push herself up, and her hands encountered something sticky. _He_ lay not two feet away, blank eyes staring into hers. Emma gazed at his face, pale in the shadow and twisted into a mask of horror. She looked steadily at it until her stomach betrayed her, and she was heaving every meal she had ever eaten onto the pavement.

Dr Lecter waited until she had finished. When it was over, he put his hands out and helped her up. She staggered against him, smelling of blood and vomit and fear. He put his arm around her. "Come, child. Home."

Sobbing quietly, she allowed the doctor to lead her away.


	7. Another Fine Mess

**Disclaimer:** Lecter and Starling belong to Thomas Harris. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Chapter 7: Another Fine Mess**

To Emma, the sight of Clarice and the children clustered around the rental car was heaven-sent. The doctor quickened his pace so that she was forced to hurry to keep up with him as he strode across the parking lot.

Clarice saw them coming and ran to meet them, hauling up short when she saw the state Emma was in

"Oh my God, Emma. What happened?" she demanded, concerned. "Are you all right?"

"She was attacked," Dr Lecter said quietly, relinquishing the au pair to Clarice's arms. "The attacker has been...dealt with"

Emma found herself being hugged fiercely as Clarice fired off questions to Lecter, who fended them off with a tiny shake of his head. For the children were approaching, and discussing the misadventure with them was the last thing he wanted to be doing.

The three children broke out in a babble of excited questions as Clarice led Emma to the car. Where had she been? Why had she wandered off? Why was there mud and bruises on her face?

Dr Lecter opened the front passenger door for Emma. Shivering, she climbed gratefully inside, pulling her tattered jacket tightly around herself. The car's smell, of leather, polish and cheap petrol, was oddly comforting. More comforting than the dangerous darkness outside, at any rate. Even Lecter was less frightening at the present moment.

The good doctor himself had lined his offspring up beside the car.

"Emma merely got lost," he said in answer to their questions.

"But - the mud," Jade protested.

"Is not open to further discussion," he snapped. "In the car, please. This is _not_ the Spanish Inquisition."

Mildly surprised, Emma watched as they did exactly as they were told. Faced with that tone of voice, that carried with it the threat of punishment should its wishes not be obeyed instantly, the children were remarkably quick to comply.

I'll have to remember that, she thought, amused despite herself.

Once Clarice was settled in the back, Tycho on her lap, Dr Lecter slid into the driver's seat. He started the engine, and then turned to look at Emma.

"All right?" he asked quietly.

Faced with the monster's concern, Emma could only nod. The sudden lump in her throat did not make speech a viable option.

The drive home was accomplished in merciful silence. Only when they entered the house did somebody speak.

"Jade?"

"Yes mom?"

"Go and run a bath for Emma, please."

"Yes mom," Jade hurried off to the big bathroom, Tycho in tow.

Emma had half a mind to hide in her room, but Clarice had other plans, and Emma was soon seated in the kitchen with a large cup of coffee. Any attempt to relieve her of her torn and stained jacket, however, met with failure.

"I'm cold," she muttered, after Clarice had given up.

Dr Lecter bent to look her in the eyes. There was only so much of that uncanny gaze that Emma could take, especially when cold, frightened and lacking in nicotine. With a nervous smile, she studied the tile pattern on the floor and twisted the coffee mug around in her hands.

Strong fingers under her chin forced her head up, and there she was, nose to nose with Hannibal Lecter. She couldn't help it. She crossed her eyes, and rolled them.

Dr Lecter grinned. "That's my girl. No permanent damage, I think. A few cuts and abrasions. Bruises. Time will heal those. You are understandably in shock, but at least you can still pull faces."

Clarice huffed. "Huh. And here I thought I was your girl. Or was that just the heat of the moment?"

"Bondage brings out the romantic in me," Lecter smirked, turning his attention back to Emma. "How about it, my dear?" he said to her. "I'm sure I can find some good vacuum cord..."

Emma stared at him, speechless.

"...Or handcuffs. Clarice, darling, do we have cuffs?"

"Oh, definitely," she replied, getting up. "Shall I get them, do you think?"

Emma mouthed silently, goldfish fashion.

It was Clarice who cracked first. She flung herself back into her chair, hunched over in a fit of uncontrollable giggles, in which the words 'your face' and 'Hannibal, you old bastard,' were just distinguishable.

Emma breathed a huge sigh of relief as the doctor allowed his poker face to slip as he chuckled and patted her on the cheek, like a parent with a favourite child.

"Try not to be too patronising, darling," Clarice advised him as she got her breath back, and passed him a small brown bottle.

Emma braced herself for the sting of the antiseptic liquid, but hissed nevertheless. After a few moments, Dr Lecter stood back to admire his handiwork.

"Not quite the Mona Lisa," he observed, "but you'll do."

There was a cough from the doorway. They turned.

"Your bath awaits," Gabriel announced with an impudent bow and a British accent you could etch glass with.

Glad of the opportunity to escape from the good doctor's sense of humour, Emma retired to the bathroom and that ancient female occupation, a very long bath. Unhappily, she could not escape the bathroom mirror so easily. She stared blankly at the puffy face reflected there. Split lips, a pair of spectacular black eyes and fetching smears of orange iodine on her scraped nose. The full works.

Mona Lisa? More like the Portrait of Dora Maar. One might even go as far as the Bride of bloody Frankenstein, she thought ruefully, touching one orange- stained cut. If only Auntie Enid and Uncle Peter could see her now... She hissed in pain, as, in prodding a fresh scab, she inadvertently made it bleed.

"If you pick it, it won't get better," Emma sternly told the face in the mirror.

Good grief, now she was talking to herself. Wondering if mental illness was contagious, she slipped out of her clothes and into the bath.

Four hours later, peace of mind had not yet materialised.

Emma lay in bed, staring at the dark ceiling. Outside, screech owls did their best to impersonate express trains in their noisy hunt for their evening meal. Restlessly, Emma sat up and flicked on the bedside light. She wanted someone to talk to. To talk at, really. Sighing, she got up and dressed, padded to the door and eased it open. Clear. Emma slipped out into the hallway, tiptoed downstairs and let herself out via the only slightly creaky back door in the kitchen.

The stables were quiet at night. Not silent - with occasional rustling, and the snoring of an elderly cat - but blessedly quiet. She took a bucket from beside the old bath that served as a washing trough, upturned it and sat down outside Saran's stable. The bad-tempered animal was not asleep, and stuck his head over the half-door in hopes of a carrot. When one was not forthcoming, he snorted irritably and went back to eating his bed.

Horses were nice, uncomplicated creatures, Emma mused. Possessed of only four goals in life - eating, sleeping, procreating and avoiding as much work as possible - they were incapable of offering unwanted advice, making unwelcome personal observations and, as far as Emma knew, had never seen Star Wars, thus making them better listeners than most of the humans around here.

"I just don't know what to do," she told Saran. Unimpressed, the horse ignored her and munched away on his straw.

"One the one hand," she continued after a moment "they're both wanted criminals. They're dangerous. I've seen the news. I've seen it up close," and she shuddered.

Saran chose not to comment.

"But on the other hand, they're devoted to each other and the kids, and whatever I do, I don't want to split them up. Understand? It would be - cruel. I can't deprive children of their parents. Besides, anyone planning to betray Dr Lecter better get funeral arrangements made beforehand. Upsetting him doesn't seem to lead to a long and healthy life."

Here she paused to light a cigarette. Saran stuck his nose over the door and huffed inquiringly at her.

"I know, I know. Shouldn't smoke around the stables."

Anyone watching would have perceived that she was wrestling with a sumo- sized problem.

Finally, Emma stubbed the dog-end out on the concrete and slumped down on her bucket with a heartfelt little groan.

"There's no way I can go to the police after he saved my life, Saran."

"What most people forget is that when one falls off the moral fence, one is going to get a bruised behind, no matter what choice is made," Dr Lecter observed lightly from the tack-room door.

"Ohmygod! Dr Lecter! Don't sneak up on me like that!" Emma gasped, falling off her bucket.

Chuckling, the doctor came forward and helped her to her feet. "The trick is to know how to land," he told her calmly. "If you're careful, you can land on your feet."

"And if I'm not careful?" Emma wanted to know, recovering from her surprise. "Do I get a nice funeral? I know you can afford it. I'm five foot three and I want a nice hardwood coffin..."

He shrugged. "It's up to you now."

She sat down again. "You heard everything?"

"Of course. The back door is creaky for a reason. And I'm impressed. Not everyone would be able, or inclined, to think things through logically."

"Hah. I did my panicking back in Buenos Aires."

Dr Lecter smiled slightly. "And you've decided...?"

"I've decided that when this is over, I'm going to forget I ever knew the Monteros. Dammit, you knew anyway. You heard it all."

"I wanted you to tell me, not the horse. Good girl."

Yes, good girl. Would Emma like a biscuit? Would Emma like to be patronised some more? She shook her head in resignation, and fumbled for another cigarette.

Dr Lecter made as if to leave, before changing his mind and turning back to face her.

"I must impress upon you, Emma, the nature of the trust Clarice and I are placing in you. One wrong word anywhere could leave the children without parents."

Emma nodded. He raised a hand to forestall any comment, and continued. "I will also warn you that I take any threat to my family and my freedom very personally indeed."

The air seemed to have grown chill. Emma swallowed hard as he went on.

"Likewise, threats to my friends will be met with reprisals. Now. I hope we understand each other. Good night, Emma." The doctor smiled, stepped back a pace and disappeared into the dark.

She licked lips gone suddenly dry.

The night-time noises seemed to have grown louder and closer, while the darkness pressed coldly upon her. Enough was enough. She pulled her dressing gown around herself and hurried back to the relative safety of her bed.

It was when she turned that nocturnal conversation over in her mind during those next few days that Emma came to realise something. If Hannibal Lecter liked you - and there were apparently few he liked - then you had a friend who would kill for you, if necessary. She was safe, actually safe among these people. It was a novel idea, but proof of it lay in an alley somewhere in Florence.

However, the realisation of the fact that being friends with Dr Lecter also made her fair game in the eyes of the rest of the world had not escaped her either, and that fact came home with bells on the night that Dr Lecter and Clarice had decided to take a trip to Florence, as there was an opera the doctor was particularly interested in seeing. They had left, formally dressed, in the Mercedes. Emma had the use of the rented Jag, should she need it.

She had no intention of going out, though, and was lounging on the couch with her nose in a book. Gabriel was sticking an X-Wing model together, and Tycho was watching TV. Emma did not understand much Italian, so she was mildly surprised when Jade announced that the police were looking for their car.

"Fucking hell!" Gabriel swore.

"You watch your language, my lad," Emma told him, marking her place.

"I've stuck the bottom to the carpet," he complained, tugging at the completed model. Emma sighed.

"Wait a moment, Gabe. Jade, what makes you think the police are looking for our car?"

She shrugged. "Green rental Jags aren't that common around here."

"You're kidding?"

"Am not!" she said indignantly.

Emma switched channels until she found a local news broadcast. It was unintelligible.

"Gabe, love, what are they saying?"

Gabriel watched for a moment. "It's an appeal for a man and a girl seen near the scene of a murder in Florence to come forward. They were seen on CCTV crossing a square moments after a murder nearby."

"And how exactly did they get the car part?"

"I dunno. D'you think I could borrow a knife from Dad? Mom'll kill me if she finds this stuck to the carpet."

"Get one from the kitchen" Emma answered absently. "So can they trace the car, then?"

"Dunno." Gabriel disappeared to the kitchen.

"Did they say what car-park?" she called after him.

"DUNNO," he yelled back.

_Shit_.

"Why are you so worried about the car?" Gabriel asked curiously when he returned.

Emma stared at him helplessly. "Well, you know when I got lost in town?"

"Yeah?" He sawed at the model,

"I was attacked," she said in a rush. "Your father rescued me, he killed the man who attacked me. And now the police are looking for us."

Gabriel's eyes grew round.

"Your dad's low opinion of the local Questura could do with revision," she continued acidly. "They seem to be a bit sharper than he said they were. And it doesn't take a genius to trace rental Jaguars. They'll check the rental companies, and that will lead them... here."

A brisk knock on the door interrupted that unpleasant train of thought.

"Come in," Emma called.

The resident housekeeper entered. A middle-aged woman, she spoke English well, and it was Emma she addressed.

"Miss Emma, there is a policeman here to speak with you. Shall I send him in?"

If Emma looked how she felt at that moment, she would have been a lovely shade of green.

"Um, yeah. Thank you," I _think..._

The housekeeper withdrew, and Emma turned to the boys. "Now what?" she demanded, getting up and pacing nervously.

"The car. It's out back. Dad moved it to get the Merc out of the garage" Gabriel told her. "He left it out."

"Outside? Oh hell."

"You can't see it from the front of the house," he assured her.

"Even so..." Emma looked wildly around the room. Her gaze fell on the ornamental fireplace - and its resident set of brass fire tools. She strode over, picked the poker up and swished it experimentally.

"You're not!" Gabriel exclaimed.

"I probably am," she admitted grimly. There were footsteps outside.

"When the cop comes in, say something in Italian" she instructed the boys, and tucked herself in behind the door.

It opened to admit a young, pimply-faced officer. Gabriel immediately bombarded him with childish questions about his gun, handcuffs and how many people he had arrested. The young man smiled, bent to show the boys his badge, and that was when Emma hit him over the back of the head with the poker.

There was a sickening crunch as metal connected with bone. The policeman grunted in surprise, and folded up face-first on the carpet.

Gabriel looked carefully at Emma. "You can open your eyes now," he told her.

She did so, dropped the poker and tried to quell her rising feeling of panic.

"Wow," Tycho breathed, looking up at her in awe.

"Never mind that," she snapped, seeing Gabriel trying to get the policeman's gun. "We need to tie him up. String, rope, anything. Quick!"

They made do with a length of electrical cord, while half a tablecloth served as a gag. Still running on adrenaline, Emma elected to hide him behind the couch, and push it as far back against the wall as possible so he couldn't move. She was thankful that it was an old, and above all, heavy couch.

"Okay. Now what?" Emma asked, checking that the hallway was clear. "Oh, Gabe, try and get your mom on her cell phone," she ordered, answering her own question.

Gabriel opened his mouth to say something, but Tycho chose that moment to point the purloined gun at Emma and shout 'bang!'

"Tycho, you little sod! Give me that!" Emma shrieked, swooping down on him and snatching the weapon from his hands.

"Watch it!" Gabriel cried. "It's loaded, you know..."

"I am not stupid, Gabriel," she snapped, shooing Tycho away. The gun in her hand was ugly, with a no-nonsense air about it. She looked at it blankly.

What in Heaven's blessed name was she doing out here in Tuscany with an unconscious policeman behind the sofa and Hannibal Lecter's children in her charge?

"It's a gun," Gabriel was saying helpfully. "You point it, pull the trigger, and hopefully the bullet goes in the other guy."

"Strange as it may seem to you three, but I have never actually SHOT ANYONE BEFORE. And I don't mean to start now. Why aren't you phoning your parents?"

Gabriel's face fell. "They won't be even halfway through the show yet, their phones are switched off."

Emma's language at that point did not bear repeating.


	8. It Shouldn't Happen to an Au Pair

**A/N:** Emma's career as an accidental criminal continues… Oh, and American readers - Sod's Law is the same as Murphy's Law, just more British ;)

**Disclaimer:** Lecter and Starling belong to Thomas Harris. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Chapter 8: It Shouldn't Happen to an Au Pair.**

Predictably the children showed little sign of worry. But then Emma thought sourly, finding policemen stuffed behind the furniture was probably an everyday occurrence in their household.

Tycho changed the TV channel, looking for cartoons, and Jade sat on the sofa, kicking her heels against the base. Every now and again, the sofa emitted a quiet snore.

The rhythmic drumming was becoming an annoyance. "Stop that," Emma snarled, rapidly losing patience. She could feel her control slipping, and was fighting the incredible urge to sit down and cry.

Gabriel was still trying to phone his parents. Minutes crawled painfully by. Jade moved from the sofa to the armchair, to better use the laptop computer. Tycho curled up in the space she had just vacated.

Finally, Gabriel looked up from his furious speed dialling. "It's ringing," he announced.

Emma fairly flew across the room and snatched the cell phone from his outstretched hand.

As if a dam had burst inside her, she was spilling out the sorry tale over the phone before the person on the other end had even had a chance to speak.

During the intermission, Starling had switched on her phone, intending to call Emma and check up on her little darlings. Given that the little darlings in question were all possessed of short tempers and a certain proficiency in edged weapons, she was hardly surprised to be the called, rather than the caller.

She was, however, somewhat surprised to be the recipient of what at first sounded very much like a transmission from Mars. It was not until the caller paused for breath for the first time in five complete sentences that Starling was able to attempt a translation.

She did not like what she thought she heard.

Repeated instructions to Emma concerning both the speed of her speech and the lack of sense she was making went entirely unheeded, Emma simply told the whole garbled story again.

Giving up, Clarice thrust the phone at Dr Lecter, and gathered her coat and purse. Whatever had happened, it did not sound like they would be seeing the rest of the show.

Dr Lecter had the phone now, and when Dr Lecter spoke, people tended to listen. Something about that metallic voice sent sparks whizzing along near- forgotten neural pathways, ultimately pushing the button marked 'Primal Fear' deep inside, and often making the acquaintance of 'Thoroughly Unnerved', 'Base Lust' and 'Swallow Own Tongue' en route.

"Emma, listen to me."

Like a slap in the face with a dead trout, Lecter's voice snapped Emma out of panicked incoherence and back into moderate terror, her ground line state of existence since leaving Brazil.

The silence at the other end was nervous.

"Now, tell me slowly and clearly what the problem is."

So Emma told him, at great length. When her voice once again threatened to become a piercing shriek, Dr Lecter cut her off. He turned back to Clarice, who was waiting with a great deal of impatience.

"It appears that the police have had some success in tracing Emma and myself, thanks to that CCTV tape appeal. An individual has come forward claiming to have seen us getting into a rental car. Apparently, anyway." His eyes narrowed. "Unwise of the police to release such details to the local television network."

Starling shook herself free of the chill that had spread through her bones. "Someone probably leaked," she said. In Starling's experience, local police forces often had almost as many holes as your average tea strainer.

"We should be grateful that somebody did," Dr Lecter remarked. "You haven't heard the best of it yet. Brace yourself, my dear."

Clarice groaned. "What have they done?"

"What haven't they done? A policeman came to the house to check on our rental. Between the four of them, they concocted a fantastic plan that ultimately led to Emma rather heartlessly braining the unfortunate young man with the ornamental poker. It has Jade and Gabriel's fingerprints all over it, I don't need forensics to tell me that."

She visibly flinched. "Oh no. I'm almost afraid to ask..."

"No, he is not dead, merely unconscious and rather tied up, or so I understand. Emma was rather hysterical. But the children _are_ behaving."

Although it was obvious that Dr Lecter found his sense of humour rather tickled by the misadventure, his wife was not in the slightest bit amused.

"We have to get the kids out of Italy," she said, horrified. The police might not have continued that line of investigation, and the family would have been safe, but now it seemed very likely that there would be unpleasantness for all concerned if the Lecters remained in Florence. If she and the doctor were captured or worse, then God only knew what would happen to the children, and Starling highly doubted that He cared very much at all.

"Of course," Dr Lecter assured her soothingly. He began to make another call.

Emma paced the room again, playing catch with the cell phone in one hand, gnawing on the thumbnail of the other and muttering under her breath.

"It shouldn't happen to an au pair."

"What?" Jade looked up momentarily from the computer.

"Nothing," Emma snapped, continuing to wear a groove in the carpet.

The phone buzzed in her hand. She clapped it to her ear, sighing in relief as Hannibal Lecter's suddenly welcome voice began issuing instructions.

"We're going," she announced flatly after the doctor had hung up again. "No time to pack. Outside and in the car, move it."

Gabriel grabbed Yoda despite Emma's injunction to leave everything. Jade clutched her laptop to her chest with a determined expression.

"I've just got to the good bit. I'm not leaving it here" she declared stubbornly.

"Fine, whatever," Emma growled in exasperation.

She bent over Tycho, curled up on the sofa. Fast asleep with his thumb in his mouth, if Emma hadn't known better, she would have thought him cute. She decided to carry him rather than wake him up, as it seemed to be an infinitely easier option than having a hyperactive child running around during a crisis. Scooping him up in her arms, Emma headed for the door, shepherding the elder two out ahead of her.

They elected to leave via the tradesman's entrance, and in doing so earned a smile from the housekeeper, watching a football game in the kitchen. In Emma's paranoid state, the smile seemed knowingly sinister, and she suppressed a shudder, shooing Jade and Gabriel out of the back door and into the welcome cool of night.

Installing Tycho and his elder brother in the back seat, Emma and the (supposedly) more responsible Jade got into the front.

The engine purred to life with well-maintained ease. Emma released a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. She was well versed in that clause of Sod's Law that states that anything that can go wrong will go wrong, and invariably as spectacularly as possible. It was a relief to know that the car, at least, was going to co-operate. However, Emma couldn't help entertaining the sneaking suspicion that the Sod who wrote the Law was saving it up for later.

The long driveway seemed to stretch on for miles. They passed the parked police car with muffled giggles from the two older children. Emma sternly told herself not to feel sorry for PC Plod, bound up with electrical cord in the Lecters' sitting room. She also tried not to think too hard about all the police thrillers and prison movies she had seen, without great success. Visions of herself and the kids in chains presented themselves for her immediate consideration.

She tried instead to think about protecting her charges. It was her duty to do so, she reminded herself sternly. They were all quiet, and slowly falling asleep despite the excitement.

They were just kids, and not accountable for the sins of the parents.

She flashed for a moment onto Tycho attempting to eat the poor cat, and Jade brandishing her crossbow, and on Gabriel's impromptu Gun 101.

They're not normal, she mused. They need proper help and care.

She thought again of Psycho Tycho, sitting on his father's shoulders, of Starling's proud smile as her precocious daughter played a piece of difficult music almost perfectly, of Gabriel with that ridiculous Yoda toy. She thought of Clarice Starling doting over her horses and dogs, and of Hannibal Lecter in that damn tutu.

They're only kids, and kids need their parents.

Dr Lecter's voice echoed in the vaults of her mind. When you fall off the proverbial fence, you are going to get a bruised behind no matter what side you end up on.

I'm not paid enough for this, she thought angrily. Then a vision of her last paycheque presented itself for her consideration. Okay, maybe I am, she relented on that score. That was hardly the point, though... she could've gone to California with Rhiannon and Leah, and be sitting on a beach drinking iced gin and enjoying a relaxing holiday. Instead, she was here in Florence enjoying an exciting flight from the law with the Family Lecter.

Okay, maybe no one was actually pursuing yet, but she felt that it was surely only a matter of time.

The furious honking of a shrill motor horn dragged Emma away from the examination of her conscience. A pair of bright headlights appeared to be on a direct collision course with their own car. It took Emma a second to realise that, in her somewhat flustered state, she had forgotten herself and been driving on the left hand side of the road.

Swearing at her own stupidity, she yanked the car over hard. The powerful vehicle responded smoothly and quickly, so smoothly that they nearly ended up in the hedge, but happily preventing farce from becoming tragedy. White- faced, Emma slunk down in her seat and tried to look nonchalant as the other car swept past, still hooting angrily. Fortunately, the children slept.

The phone buzzed and Emma answered, grateful for the car-plug.

"Emma?" The smoothly cultured voice issued from the car's speakers in what was practically surround-sound.

"Hello, Dr Lecter."

"How are the children?" he asked at once.

"They're sleeping, sir," she told him. "We're almost there."

"Excellent. I have booked six tickets for Gatwick, London. It was the earliest flight I could get. I think that you are accompanying us, yes?" It wasn't exactly a question, but the doctor was polite enough to dress it up as one.

If Emma had seen her life flash before her eyes moments ago, she now saw dozens of future ones, and none of them looked Lecter-free. England? The Family Lecter in that green and soggy land? The car nearly veered off the road again as she contemplated that fearful thought.

"London?!"

"Yes, don't you approve? You can visit your family..."

Huh, no.

"But..." Emma's surprised expression was very similar, as a friend had once pointed out, to that borne by a concussed goldfish.

"But you'll hate London," she told him, frantically searching for reasons why. "The Crown Jewels are just so tasteless..." The straws she was groping at slipped through her fingers as the phone emitted amused silence. The Sod struck at last.

God save dear old Blighty.

Back on course, Emma glared at the phone. It contrived to look as smug as only an inanimate object that is a source of irritation can.

"Okay," she said wearily. "We'll be at the airport shortly."

"Very good. We will meet you there." And then he was gone.


	9. Arrivals and Departures

**A/N:** Nothing ever goes to plan, particularly when there isn't one…

**Disclaimer:** All is Harris's, except the bits that aren't.

**Chapter 9: Arrivals... and Departures**

The lights and bustle of an airport had never seemed so welcoming to Emma, who normally hated them. And despite her not inconsiderable misgivings about the Lecters going to Britain, she was pleased to be going home herself. Recent events had soured Italy for her, and she did not expect to return.

Parking the Jaguar in an empty space as close to the main entrance as she could get, Emma roused the children. Sleepily they piled out of the car and huddled together in the dark.

"Where're we going?" Jade wanted to know.

"London," Emma informed her shortly.

Gabriel let loose a whoop of glee. "Yeah! I want to see the Tower of London!"

"And so you shall," Emma muttered, picking up Tycho. "If we're lucky, maybe they'll lock you in it."

"I heard that," he shot back as Jade giggled. Emma ignored them and headed for the entrance.

She was tired and preoccupied, so she did not see Clarice Starling lurking in the waiting area. Starling saw her, though, and while she didn't exactly sneak up, Emma still leapt out of her skin when Starling's voice spoke in her ear. Once the au pair had been coaxed down off the ceiling, Starling filled her in.

"Han... Henry... booked the tickets as soon as he got off the phone to you," she explained, cuddling Tycho. "We were so worried..."

"I'm so sorry..." Emma began, but Clarice cut her off.

"It's not your fault," she said tiredly. "Similar incidents have happened before, although there were generally more fatalities.

I bet, Emma thought, and wished she hadn't.

"You panicked, that's understandable," Starling continued. "After all, protecting the leading member of the FBI's Ten Most Wanted List was hardly in your job description. I'm sorry you had to get involved."

Emma snorted. "You said it, not me. But I suppose I owe the doctor... Where is he, anyway?"

"Oh, he's... around. He went shopping."

Emma was well aware that the good doctor was fond of spending tasteful amounts of money on equally tasteful items. However, under the circumstances, she thought that his priorities were somewhat skewed. She was about to venture this opinion when she noticed a be-jeaned and leather- jacketed gentleman hovering nearby. His head turned slightly as she watched, and he winked. There was no mistaking that maroon gaze, or the effect it had on her. It was as if a bucket of ice had been poured down her spine, and she looked away.

A change of clothes, of course. One can hardly run very far in eveningwear. Come to that, Clarice was now clad in new cargo trousers and a denim jacket.

Gabriel tugged his mother's sleeve. "Mom, I really need to pee," he complained.

Clarice sighed. "Watch these two while I take Gabe to the restroom, would you?" she asked.

"Of course I will." Emma settled back on her chair with a crumpled copy of _The International Herald-Tribune_ and Clarice's cup of coffee. Beside her, Jade was once more deeply engrossed in her computer.

"Surely you can't get the internet on that thing in here?" Emma asked, leaning over to see. The odd word or phrase from the screen jumped out at her, among them the names 'Lecter', 'Starling' and 'Las Vegas'.

"What is this?"

Jade flushed. "Some people online write stories about Mom and Dad. I saved it before we left."

"Oh." Emma considered the screen for a moment. _"The Misplaced Earnings of Unrighteousness?"_

Jade buried herself behind her screen again, declining to comment.

Emma left her to it and sipped the rapidly cooling coffee. She began to peruse the newspaper.

That is to say, she got as far as the headline before Tycho announced his boredom by biting her on the ankle. Yelping in pain, Emma deposited the remainder of the coffee in her lap. Furiously she reached down and hauled the unrepentant toddler out from under her chair, where he had become bored playing 'Hannibal Lecter in Prison.'

The laptop on Emma's left giggled.

Tycho wriggled as the au pair firmly sat him on a seat, telling him in no uncertain terms to stay there. He simply grinned up at her, pleased at the attention.

Emma resumed her seat just as Clarice Starling and her eldest son strolled into view, bearing milkshakes.

"Another half an hour," Starling informed Emma as Tycho blew bubbles down his straw. Then Gabriel began a tune with his. The two adults turned to look as Jade started to sing a charming little ditty concerning Old King Cole and a rather unpleasant hole he fell into. She was unabashedly loud about it, and more than slightly off-key. The old couple five seats away threw dirty looks as the milkshake orchestra interrupted their conversation. Emma heroically resisted the urge to scream.

Trying to keep the children amused for half an hour in a place that did not provide the entertainment they were accustomed to was something of a challenge, Emma felt. She steered the children away from further musical experimentation by suggesting a game of I-Spy. This seized the attention of all for a goodly length of time, until Gabriel realised that he could not, in fact, spy his father. After a minute or two of trying, he turned to his mother.

"Mom?"

"Yes, Gabe?" Clarice was somewhat preoccupied, being rather stumped by her daughter's 'X'.

"Where's Dad gone, Mom?"

Immediately, everybody turned around to try and spot Dr Lecter. He had previously been lurking at a good vantage point next to a grotesque tub plant that rather resembled an escapee from Little Shop of Horrors. He was now nowhere in sight.

Briefly entertaining the amusing notion that the plant might have eaten him, Emma scanned the crowd again. She spotted a leather jacket and was about to say so when the wearer turned and Emma realised that he had far too many piercings to be Hannibal Lecter.

Worried, with only a few minutes to go, Clarice was dialling Lecter's cell phone. Her face fell as an electronic beep and automatic message informed her that his phone was switched off and that no voicemail service was available. Cursing, Starling pocketed the phone and glared furiously at the unresponsive tub plant.

"Of all the times to... The whole point of a cell phone is null and void if you have the damn thing switched off!"

Emma's heart sank. What else could go wrong?

"Maybe he just went to the toilet," she suggested brightly.

"And you switch your phone off for that, do you?" Starling snapped. "No, he's up to something. I know it."

Emma privately felt that if the good doctor was indeed up to something, it was better that he was not here while he was up to it.

"Well I can't think of anywhere else he'd be right now, Mrs Montero," she growled, matching her employer's glare with one of her own.

"Don't use that name!" Starling hissed, glancing around.

Emma's frayed temper unravelled a little more. "Then what name am I supposed to use? Clarice M. You-know-bloody-well-what?"

"I am Mrs Cassandra Blake."

"Oh, I'm delighted to meet you. Are these your lovely children?"

The sarcasm was not lost on Starling, who stepped up close. "If you hadn't... there'd be no need for Cassandra Blake..." She seemed to be on the verge of losing it entirely.

"If Mr - or is that Doctor - Blake hadn't put the fear of God up me, I might not have!" Emma screeched, unaware of their audience. The children stood in stunned silence, following the traded recriminations back and forth as if they were watching tennis. Violence seemed entirely possible from both parties, judging by Starling's white-lipped glare, and the tic twitching afresh under Emma's left eye. The old couple nearby got up and moved.

Fortunately, news of the impending departure of the late flight to Gatwick immediately derailed the conflict. Starling and Emma turned back to the children. Jade was near to tears.

"What about Daddy?" she wailed, clutching her laptop as if it was a teddy.

"Daddy will be coming soon, honey," Clarice assured her distraught offspring, devoutly hoping that it was true.

Emma took Gabriel's and Jade's hands in her own as Starling picked up her youngest. The two traded worried glances, a temporary truce declared.

However, Jade refused to move. "I want my Daddy!" she howled, stamping her foot. Gabriel began to sniff.

Oh please, _not now_...

Emma tugged at their hands. "He's probably waiting for us at the plane," she said, falsely bright.

Despite her tears, Jade managed to bestow upon Emma a look that could have withered a rainforest.

So much for that plan.

The announcement system bellowed to life again, warning passengers not to be late.

"Your father is more than capable of taking care of himself," Emma told the children. "You have to be more like him, and take care of your mother."

Only a very tiny snort betrayed Starling's opinion of that.

Jade wiped her eyes on her sleeve and sniffed loudly. "Okay," she said in a small voice. Relieved, but mildly suspicious of her own anxious feelings towards the doctor, Emma assisted Clarice in frog-marching the three children towards the gate, the waiting plane and Great Britain.


	10. Rule, Britannia?

And they all lived happily ever after… or did they?

As before, Lecter and Starling are Harris's.

**Rule, Britannia?**

Light danced and sparkled along the seemingly hair-fine blade. She was a mouse caught in the gaze of the snake, frozen for what seemed like an eternity of horrified antici...

...pation as the silver claw arced across her throat, as gracefully and delicately as a butterfly. There was no pain, but oh my, the fear. It rose up inside her, impatient and churning like steam in a kettle left on the boil. Her scream was a sad little wet hiss as her windpipe, jugular and vocal cords alike parted under the slender knife. Blood burst forth and blossomed on her blouse. As the warm, crimson life fled her body, she caught his unholy gaze and thought she detected the faintest hint of regret.

Emma woke screaming into the tinny, recycled air of Flight 138 to Gatwick, London. Mystified passengers murmured their displeasure and craned their necks to see who had disturbed the sleepy silence. Ignoring the glares and the stewardess's helpful query, Emma staggered from her aisle seat and fled to the toilet. She slammed the door behind her and bent her head over the bowl just in time, as her stomach appeared to reject everything she had ever eaten.

I haven't had carrots in weeks, she thought distractedly, a few moments later. She flushed the loo and turned to the sink, intending to wash away the sharpness in her throat with a mouthful of water or two, yet she caught her own eye in the mirror and froze. She could almost _see_ the scarlet smile the doctor's knife had left in its wake... it had seemed so real. The grey face, that stranger's face in the mirror began to blur as hot tears welled up in her eyes. She gripped the edge of the sink until her knuckles went white and the tendons in her hands stood out like wire rope, but her legs refused to co-operate and she sank onto the lid of the tiny toilet. It felt as if every muscle in her body had clenched into protesting knots as the past nerve-wracking weeks, days and hours caught up with her at last, and presented her with the bill.

Emma wrapped her arms around herself and rocked back and forth in her tiny cubicle as great, panicked sobs mercilessly wracked her slender frame. It wasn't good, it wasn't right, and she was in deeper shit than ever before. With the Lecters in Britain, it seemed thoroughly unlikely that she would ever escape that maroon gaze unless she was in the ground, or in prison. Neither option held much appeal, but neither did the thought of the Family Lecter anywhere near her own relatives. Which they certainly would be, if she ratted on them.

It didn't even bear thinking about.

Emma liked to think that she was a sensible girl who never did anything particularly rash, or got into to trouble. However, even she had to admit that the evidence thus far pointed to a certain flair for attracting disaster that she had not realised that she possessed. Common sense appeared to have fled the moment she had opened her mouth and agreed to accompany the Lecters on this insane family holiday. How to justify her actions? She couldn't, save for the fact that everything within her rebelled at the idea of separating children from parents that obviously treasured them.

The sobbing and the nervous twitching had mercifully begun to subside as a discreet knock at the door intruded upon her rather damp reverie. "I'll be out in a second," she called, and hiccoughed.

"Emma? It's me." Starling's voice came softly through the flimsy plastic door, and Emma wearily got to her feet and hauled the door open. Starling immediately stepped in, forcing Emma into the corner by the toilet. Starling closed the door and locked it, then turned to look at the au pair. In such close quarters, Emma got a good look at her employer's face. The older woman was tired, as evidenced by her bloodshot eyes and strained smile.

"You alright?" Starling could smell the vomit, and it didn't take a genius to realise that Emma had been crying.

Emma nodded, not trusting herself to say anything. Starling considered her for a moment, and took advantage of her silence to speak. "When we get in, I guess we're going to have to talk - your future employment and so forth."

"Bite me." The Americanism was out before Emma could censor it.

"I'm sorry?" Starling glared at her.

"You can bite me," Emma snarled. She stood, forcing Starling to take a cramped step backwards. "You and your bloody husband both." This followed by a mildly hysterical hiccough. She swallowed hard and continued. "I don't know if you get off on this kind of crap, or what, but I don't. And I'll tell you what; there is nothing you or the doctor can do to me that I haven't already _seen_ and _felt_ in my own head." Emma felt her chest constrict and her breath falter, but pressed on regardless. "I'll go as far away as you please. Australia maybe, or Outer-sodding-Mongolia. As far away as you want. And I'll keep schtum too. They won't get a peep out of me, I did promise, you know. But don't think I'm going to beg you for my life or anything. I'm not going to do that." She held Starling's gaze fiercely. "I still have my pride."

"I don't doubt that." Starling murmured. "You had a bad dream?" The older woman's voice was almost unbearably kind.

Emma couldn't look her in the eye. "I dreamt that the doctor... killed me," she whispered. "Oh God... I couldn't move. Couldn't even scream..." She shuddered violently and sank back down onto the seat of the small toilet. A final, forlorn hiccough escaped her and she fell silent, staring at the tiny slice of grey airline carpet visible between Starling's designer trainers.

Starling shook her head with a sigh halfway between annoyance and resigned amusement. "Forgive me for sounding, well, practical, but if Hannibal was going to kill you then I suspect that he would have done so already. Even his patience has limits. And I assure you, I have no intention of 'bumping you off' either."

Emma shot her a look. "This isn't remotely funny."

"I never said it was." The former FBI agent leant casually against the sink and studied Emma thoughtfully for a few moments. The au pair squirmed under a gaze she found almost as penetrating as Lecter's. Do the pair of them practise that, or what, she wondered.

Starling suddenly chuckled, making Emma jump. "I might have to get that promise of silence in writing, though. For future reference."

Incredibly, Emma felt the urge to giggle swelling inside her. "Fine. In blood if I can't find a damn pen..." The giggle broke free, and Starling responded with a relieved grin.

"I doubt that'll be necessary. Y'know, it would be nice if at least one of the children's nannies left our employ in the same condition in which she entered it. And before you ask, no one died. Anyway, if you're feeling up to it, I suspect we had better get back to the kids."

"Bloody hell, what have you done with them?" Emma demanded, looking around as though noticing for the first time that Lecter's offspring were absent from their mother's side.

"I left them in the no doubt inadequate care of the nice British Airways stewardess with the coffee trolley." Starling's wince was echoed by Emma's groan, and they both reached for the door handle.

As Starling unlocked the cubicle, another thought occurred to Emma. "Clarice - I mean, Cassandra - do you have any idea what's happened to the doctor?"

Starling paused at the door. "I suspect, upon reflection, that he has simply gone to get rid of the car, and will be catching another flight shortly. We should meet him in London - eventually." She shrugged. "I really couldn't say. I have learned, the hard way, that he is a law unto himself. However, I do get regular news updates on my phone, so we'll know if..."

"They catch him." Emma whispered.

Starling smiled grimly. "Yes."

Returning to their seats, the two women found that one of the stewardesses was minding Tycho, who was thankfully still asleep. However, Jade and Gabriel were conspicuous by their absence, and Emma endured an uncomfortable few minutes until Stewardess Number Two returned from the staff cabin with the little darlings in her wake, clutching chocolate biscuits and sticky toffee cake, which in Gabriel's case seemed to be attached to his face rather than his hand. Starling sighed and reached for a tissue as the stewardess, with that peculiar brand of cheerfulness for which airline stewardesses are famous, exclaimed brightly; "They're such _inventive_ children, aren't they?"

It was, Emma mused as she reached for her own handkerchief, the understatement of the century.

The children settled back into their seats with an unusual minimum of fuss. Tycho was mumbling what sounded suspiciously like Latin in his sleep, but since Emma's knowledge of that great language began and ended with 'fabrici diem, punk', it could have been ancient Egyptian for all she knew. And while Gabriel chatted excitedly to no one in particular about how he wanted to be an airline pilot when he grew up (and a rock star, a brain surgeon, a Jedi Knight and an astronaut), his sister quietly busied herself with her ever-present laptop. Emma took the opportunity to close her eyes and attempt to relax, but perhaps fortunately, sleep refused to come. She was grateful for the rattling of computer keys on her left, as the sound was perfectly (and normally infuriatingly) distracting.

Curiously, Starling leant over her daughter's shoulder and regarded the Word document on the screen. "Not fan fiction again, Jade. Honestly, how many times...?" The young girl flushed scarlet and half turned away from her mother, hiding the screen. Starling chuckled. "Oh well, I guess it's keeping you quiet." She returned to her magazine, which occasionally shook slightly as tiny burps of laughter escaped her.

Emma thought she knew the reason for her employer's sudden levity; sheer relief can make any catastrophe funny. They had escaped with surprisingly few complications given the situation. A public showdown between the pair of them had been avoided, and some sort of understanding reached. For now, at least. We're not home free yet, are we, Dr. Lecter, she mused.

Some time later, there was a small and polite cough from two seats away. "Mommy, Emma, how do you spell 'tutu'?" Jade turned an imploring and far too innocent gaze upon the two adults.

Emma and Starling looked at each other and snickered.

The hours passed slowly, as hours in any type of confinement, from prison cells to hospital waiting rooms always do. Finally, however, the plane began its arc downwards and joined the ponderous queue of planes circling above London like a great unkindness of ravens. Looking out of the window, the children exclaimed over such illuminated landmarks as the London Eye, and argued over whether the tower they could see below was Big Ben. Personally, Emma thought it just looked like a bloody big tower, of which the ancient city had more than one, but London's geography had never been Emma's strong point so she gave up trying to identify far distant buildings and closed her eyes again. And eventually, after much circling, they landed.

Gatwick airport in the wee hours was ridiculously busy, or so Emma thought tiredly as she skirted be-suited and trainer-shod businessmen fairly running for their flights. Tycho snuggled down into her arms and sleepily nibbled on her jacket, and his older brother and sister were uncharacteristically silent, clutching their mother's hands as they left the airport proper and headed for the taxi ranks. Check-in had been mercifully quick given that their only luggage was a laptop and a plush Yoda toy with one chewed ear. It was, she reflected, quite reassuring to see the rain lashing heavily against shining concrete and hear the dulcet tones of the nearest London cabbie.

"All right, love? Where to?" This addressed to Starling, who looked rather taken aback at being called 'love' by a complete stranger, moreover one who pronounced the word like 'lav'.

"Recommend me a hotel," Starling told the gentleman at the wheel, once they were settled in the taxi. "A good one. In fact, make it a spectacular one"

"The Savoy it is, then." The cabbie released the handbrake and reversed with no noticeable care for the continued health of those walking behind his vehicle. As he pulled out into the main stream of traffic leaving the airport, two thoughts occurred to Emma. The first, which she declined to share with Starling, was that the cabbie had most likely chosen the most expensive hotel he could think of that was a goodly distance from the airport. However, the second thought she considered more pressing than the probable size of the fare.

"Um, don't you need to book at the Savoy?" she asked tentatively.

"Not when they see the colour of my plastic, we won't," Starling said comfortably. "Relax."

However, Emma found it nearly impossible to relax until she almost saw the pound signs rack up in the eyes of the impeccably dressed gentleman behind the front desk at the Savoy Hotel. He smiled unctuously, no doubt seeing generously discreet tips at the foot of every bill, and gestured for a bellhop to take them to their suite.

Starling grinned at her. "See? For everything else..."

"I stand corrected." Emma said dryly. "So... now what?"

Fortunately, Starling's phone chose that precise moment to beep, announcing the arrival of a message. The ex agent busied herself with the device for a moment, and looked up. A massively relieved smile lit up her features. "He's on the next flight. Says he'll be here in a few hours. Shall we get the kids to bed and wait in the bar?"

"He sent you a text?" Somehow, Emma found that difficult to imagine. She suspected that even the doctor's text messages possessed perfect grammar and spelling.

Starling gave her an odd look. "Sure, why not?"

Shrugging, Emma chuckled. "The bar sounds good to me. I doubt I could sleep if I tried."

And so, four hours and several stiff gins later, Emma and Starling were still in the bar regaling the barman and each other with various equestrian mishaps and exploits, when...

"Good morning, Emma," a smooth and cultured voice purred into her ear. Emma's gin leapt from her hand and cascaded across the bar as she toppled from her stool with a shriek. Starling collapsed in laughter as the au pair climbed to her feet, red faced and spluttering, and looked Hannibal Lecter in the eye.

"If you ever do that to me again..." she began, before words failed her utterly.

"You'll have a coronary?" He asked mildly, one grey eyebrow raised in amusement. Turning to Clarice, the doctor took her hand and raised it to his lips. "Cassie, dearest," he greeted her. "I trust you had a pleasant flight?"

Starling looked across at Emma, who reddened. "Tolerable, Hector, tolerable. As you see, we are both still alive. As are the children, I might add. They behaved rather well, all things considered. Naturally, it would have been a much more pleasant experience if you had been able to join us, or at least tell me where you'd gone." Her voice contained more than a hint of steel.

Unperturbed, Lecter smiled. "I had to take care of the car, of course. And I had another errand to run."

"Not that poor young man, surely?" Starling demanded, aghast.

"Of course not," he reassured her and Emma both. "I'm not that foolish. Not at all."

"So where did you go?" Emma asked, as politely as possible.

Dr. Lecter smiled with the air of a schoolboy hiding a guilty secret. "I had to pick something up. Dearest, you understand?"

"Understand what, Hector?" There was a light frost on Starling's tone.

The doctor produced a rather large book from his carrier bag. "It was auctioned over the internet the other day. The seller was a Florentine bookshop owner. I told him I'd pick it up in person." He couldn't quite conceal a sheepish grin.

Emma just had time to glimpse the title as Starling took it from her husband's hand and opened the cover. Neat copperplate greeted her eyes on the inside page, and she looked up at Lecter. "Right now, I'm not sure if I want to kiss you or kill you," Starling growled through clenched teeth.

Dr. Lecter merely smiled, and offered her his arm. "Why don't we discuss that in private, my dear?" He reached over and plucked the book from Starling's fingers as she got rather unsteadily to her feet and linked her arm with his.

As the couple made their way to the stairs, Dr. Lecter turned his head and looked at Emma. "I suggest you sleep in," he said. "You look like a ghost."

Emma waved goodnight in a distracted fashion, and returned to her contemplation of the bar. _The Joy of Cooking?_ She was reasonably certain that she really didn't want to know...

**Finis**


	11. Values! The Musical

I think it's best not to ask... Definitely best not to ask.

Lecter and Starling belong to Thomas Harris, to whom I apologise most wholeheartedly ;)

**Values! The Musical (Or 'Once More, With Screaming')**

**Previous Nannies.**

In which Hannibal and Clarice discuss Emma's prospects and the fates of her predecessors. Set during Chapter 1.

(Starling/Lecter)

_There have been nannies,  
So many nannies...  
And none of them cut the mustard  
None of them sliced the bread.  
Yes, all our previous nannies have fled._

(The children)

_But none of them are dead!_

(Starling/Lecter)

_Is this new one what we've been looking for?  
She had a certain 'something'  
As she stepped in through the door.  
The horrors awaiting her  
She's never known before_

(Starling)

_Oh where will it go wrong?  
Oh will they drive her off?  
Does she wear a silly wig  
Like poor Miss Thingy Wotsit did?_

(Lecter)

_Can she take a challenge?  
She's survived a day already.  
Will she set the record steady  
Or will she head for the door?_

(Both)

_When things get stranger  
Will she put us all in danger?_

(Lecter)

_Perhaps I'd better...  
But no.  
You'll forgive me, I'm sure._

(Both)

_So let's not be too hasty  
Though she does look kind of tasty._

(Lecter)

_I hope she doesn't find the autopsy saw..._

(Both)

_Oh why do our nannies leave us?  
Why do our nannies run away?  
Why don't they ever stay longer than a day...?  
We're kind and friendly really  
We never harmed them anyway  
And children will be children after all..._

**The Freezer Is Already Full**

In which the Doctor and Clarice meet Jade's Headmistress and discuss her progress at school. Based on Chapter 3.

(Madame Sallier)

_Mrs Montero, you have bred a monster  
A certifiable little psychopath  
(Although she's really rather good at her English and her Math)  
But her art is an utter disaster  
Have you seen the pictures she has done?  
And she locked her teacher in the cupboard...  
And told her to swallow her tongue._

(Starling/Lecter)

_So Madame Headmistress, you are saying  
That you'd rather not teach our daughter any more  
Perhaps you'd like to rethink the line you are taking  
For..._

(Lecter)

_I'd like to invite you for dinner  
Seven PM Friday, is that fine?  
After all, our table is a winner  
I promise you an interesting time_

(Starling)

_I have a dress that will do nicely  
I shall look forward to the night  
But I sincerely hope the other teachers  
Are going to be a little more polite._

(Faculty)

_For...  
He'll be inviting us all around for dinner  
And it's sure to be a terrifying sight  
Because... the freezer is already full!  
Not one more steak or sausage can it hold  
They're going to have to eat her all...  
Yes, the freezer is... already... full!  
They're going to have to eat... her... all...!_

**My Tiara Has Knobs On**

In which the Doctor celebrates his daughter's birthday in style... From Chapter 4.

(Dr Lecter)

_I'm wearing pink  
Pink!  
My daughter has a taste  
For bright pink frills and lace  
It's a fashion disaster  
I really should have stopped her  
But then she'll cry and cry and cry and cry and cry... _

I have a knobbly tiara  
Tiara!  
I know she reads 'fan fiction'  
I think it's the addiction  
Responsible for this show...  
It's rather upsetting, you know  
When I'm wearing pink  
And my tiara has knobs on...  
Knobs on!

Now the door to the attic has opened wide  
In my pink and frilly tutu I am spied  
My daughter is in stitches  
An embarrassment of riches in the frame!  
For I'm wearing pink!  
Pink!  
And my darling has a camera!  
A camera!  
Fortune, say it isn't so  
For my tiara has knobs on  
And my neckline plunges low...

My star tipped wand was flung aside  
Aside!  
And I lunged for that damning camera  
(Then she dodged, damn her)  
These wretched writers will get the fright of their lives  
As soon as I get out of these stilettos  
And wrest that film roll from my wife... 

**Story of Our Lives**

In which the Lecters watch the premiere of The Silence of the Lambs in New York. Based on Chapter 5

(Starling)

_The audience is spellbound  
By the strange tale of you and I  
Let's make out in the back row  
Because I really want to hide  
Oh God! My hair!  
Was it really that disastrous?_

(Lecter)

_Umm..._

(Starling)

_And that accent I tried so desperately to shed..._

(Lecter)

_Err..._

(Starling)

_How quickly you got inside my head!_

(Lecter)

_Mmm!_

(Starling)

_Such liberties with the blackest truth!  
How dare they script the meeting of our minds!_

(Lecter)

_Will there be a sequel?  
An honest ending to the story of our lives?  
Or can we dance on the terrace forever  
Dare they come and play with the fire?_

**Help, My Employer Eats People**

In which the penny drops and Emma realises who she's working for. Based on part of Chapter 5.

(Emma)

_Pizza! Oh blessed pizza!  
They won't have it in the house  
And Tycho is tired and as quiet as a mouse  
So I'll sit here and turn on the TV  
Honestly, how many channels do you need?  
Oh where is BBC World Service?  
Perhaps I'll just sit over here and read... _

Wow, Dr Montero's on the TV  
In the ad for Silence of the La...

OH. MY. GOD.

Montero is Dr Lecter  
I must have been blind not to see...  
I'm working for a mad man  
How typically me!  
My employer eats people  
I'm dead if he knows that I know  
Oh help, my employer eats people  
To whom do I go? 

**Lost**

In which Emma is attacked when alone in Florence, and is rescued by Dr Lecter. Based on events in Chapter 6.

(Emma)

_The world is darker now  
I realise I'm not the same  
I am still ruled by fear  
But the monster's very near  
And I am falling in his eyes  
The world has changed so much  
He is understanding and kind  
As gentle as I've ever seen  
I'm lost inside this new life  
What has happened to me?  
Right and wrong were once  
So very black and white  
But now wrong is right  
And black is white  
I cannot see the path ahead  
It is dark and I fear to tread._

(Dr Lecter)

_Child, you were never meant to know  
You were never meant to see  
But now there's only one way left to go  
And that is onwards... with me._

(Emma)

_Yes._

**Falling Off The Moral Fence**

In which Emma reflects upon the decision she has made. From Chapter 7.

(Emma)

_I've fallen off the moral fence  
With nothing to say in my defence  
Except that I'll see it through or die  
I will not be the cause of children's tears  
I will not give them to their fears  
I promised to help them live their lie _

He saved my life in Florence  
I'll never forget what I owe  
So although I'm terrified  
I simply cannot go  
Tied here by bonds of love and fear  
There's nowhere I can hide  
And while my future is unclear  
I said I'd face it at their side. 


End file.
